


Lizard Love

by GulJeri



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Sex, Cardassian, F/F, F/M, Lizard Love, M/M, Multi, Multi pairings, PWP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:49:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GulJeri/pseuds/GulJeri
Summary: This is just a pwp series where I want to post stories of 'Lizard Love'. Basically, Cardassians having the sexy times. Because why not? There will be many pairings. Might be open to requests, we will see.EXTRA NOTE: This was done for Lizard Lovin over on tumblr which is a fun thing put on by the blog owners where participants submit pairings and themes and fulfill requests for each other. Ratings can be whatever and you can write, draw, make graphics or icons, or anything else you can think of. The goal is to have fun with Cardassian appreciation! Check it out at tumblr.com/lizardlovin Sign ups for round 2 are going on right now.





	1. The Tables Have Turned- Weyoun/Damar

**Author's Note:**

> Ch. 1 was written as a trade with Rekelen. Hope you like it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk-sex, hate-fuck, pegging.

Damar startled when he entered his quarters after a rough day and found Weyoun sprawled naked on his bed. Damar curled his lip at the Vorta. His pale legs were bent, his dark purple ajan-like part with its many folds on display, wet and velvety as Weyoun drew a finger along one of the lips of the opening. The Vorta grinned up at him smugly through hooded violet eyes. Damar grunted.

“What are you doing? And how did you get into my quarters?” Damar marched towards the cabinet in his quarters that held his bottles of kanar.

“I have my ways,” Weyoun cooed. 

Damar had changed his code yet again, but still here Weyoun was, holding his wet fingers above his face, and staring at them as he turned them to catch the gleam of the low lighting.

“You can't just barge in here whenever you like and leave yourself like an unwanted gift on my bed,” Damar said, yanking a bottle out of his cabinet and opening it. 

Given that Weyoun was here, Damar didn't bother with a glass for his favorite beverage. He just wanted it in him hot and stinging. He took a swallow from the bottle and grimaced. This type of kanar was his least favorite—it was thick and slid down his throat slowly. It made him cringe. But the alcohol level in this type of kanar was also more concentrated so it would hit him more quickly.

“I can, and I have,” Weyoun said, “and both of us know that I am not truly unwanted. You enjoy our secret activities just as much as I do,” he purred.

“If by enjoy you mean loathe--” Damar growled.

“Mmm, no, I think not,” Weyoun said. He sat himself up on his elbows still smirking as Damar glared daggers at him from his dark blue eyes.

“Well, I'm not going to fuck you tonight, so you can get out,” Damar demanded, using his bottle to motion towards the door, “I'm expecting a woman.”

Weyoun yawned.

“Oh... yes... I'm aware,” Weyoun said.

“Hm?” Damar grunted, narrowing his eyes, “what do you mean?”

“Oh, just that when I arrived, there was a Cardassian woman waiting outside your quarters. She was wearing a very low necked dress. It slid all the way off her shoulders and showed all of those ridges, the decorated collarbone, that spoon-thing on the chest between the rise of her breasts, even. Oh, it isn't something I can appreciate, since the Vorta have no sense of aesthetics. But... the scale patterns, I noted, were quite different from yours. I found it fascinating... and then I sent her away,” Weyoun gestured with his glistening fingers as though brushing a bit of dust from the air.

Damar growled.

“Sent her away! Why would you do such a thing?” He strode to the bed and slammed his bottle of kanar down onto a small table at the side of it. “You had no right!” he shouted, clenching his teeth around the last word. How he would love to bite a hole in that Vorta's disgusting, unadorned, little throat and watch his blood drain out of him. The worst part of it wouldn't have been the mess but the fact that he'd just be replaced. Again.

“That's right. I know Cardassians don't have the best sense of hearing, but yours must truly be going at the rate you question me.”

Damar snarled and bunched his hands into tight fists. Beneath his plated uniform his shoulder and back muscles were constricting and tangling into tight and painful knots of anger and hatred. It was either murder Weyoun or fill himself full of kanar so he took his bottle back and slugged down a long slimy gulp that made him shudder. He swiped the back of his hand over his grimacing lips to smear away a bit of the lingering liquid.

“Well, I'm not fucking you tonight,” Damar said. “You can get out. Now.”

“Hmm,” Weyoun hummed. “Part of that statement is true: but I won't be leaving yet. I've been doing some research.”

Weyoun sat up all the way now and peered at Damar who was taking another swallow.

“Just because I don't have a pointy-thing as you do doesn't mean I can't fuck you,” Weyoun said matter-of-factly.

Damar spat his kanar. Weyoun glared at him from beneath the spray.

“That was quite uncalled for,” Weyoun said. He looked down at Damar's sheets as though considering using the corner of one to wipe his face, but he curled his lip. “Give me something to clean myself with,” Weyoun demanded, giving Damar a small pout.

Damar was scrubbing his lips on the back of his hand. He bent and plucked a sock from the floor and tossed it at Weyoun who tweezed it between two fingers and sneered at is as though it was the most offensive thing he had ever seen.

“Not this. It's been on your foot,” Weyoun said.

“Very good. You know what a sock is used for,” Damar said. “Wipe your face with it or don't, and get out! If you think you're going to fuck me, then you've lost your damned mind, Vorta.”

Weyoun laughed and rolled delicately off of the bed and to his feet.

“I'll use your refresher,” he said, giving Damar a slight bow of his head. 

Damar bristled. It was twice now that he had ordered Weyoun to leave and the irritating thing was just ignoring him and doing as he pleased, carrying his pale little ass to the refresher, and laughing all the way. Damar kicked an empty bottle across the room. He'd already had a rough day then he'd come to his quarters only to have to deal with this. All he wanted was a moments peace under the mellowing affects of a good kanar and the squeezing ajan and swaying breasts of a pleasing Cardassian woman. He took another pull from his bottle then sat it aside in order to remove his chest and back plates. Today they were feeling particularly heavy even to his strong back and broad shoulders. It wasn't really the plates, the material of them, it was more of an unseen weight that pressed down upon him. But that was a weight that Damar could not just unclasp and set aside as he could his uniform. After the plates were off he peeled the undershirt away too and paused to adjust the temperature controls to make his quarters warmer and he dimmed the lights a bit more too. He gave a sigh as the computer complied with his wishes and the space around him become a bit more in tune with his needs. 

He carried his bottle to the replicator and considered food. He was hungry too and usually had a healthy appetite, but if he ate something now it might not sit well on top of the thick kanar, and if he drank more, having food in his system would slow the effects. He knew it was a bad choice to skip a meal and he would feel it in the morning, but the escape of the alcohol was a greater temptation than the warm comfort of a full belly. Damar turned away from the replicator and continued to gulp down his drink of choice.

By the time Weyoun was finished in the refresher Damar was opening his second bottle. He ignored the way the Vorta was looking at him, his wide eyes even wider than usual, silently judging him for how heavily he was drinking. But at least, Damar thought, it was silently. He wasn't sure how much longer he could take the grating noise that came from the Vorta's constantly simpering lips. 

Weyoun moved quietly towards the replicator. Damar concentrated on ignoring him. If the Vorta wouldn't leave on demand, perhaps he'd leave if Damar just pretended he wasn't there at all. 

“Hmm,” Weyoun murmured as he pressed buttons on the replicator.

Damar pursed his lips and pretended not to be watching Weyoun from the corners of his eyes.

“Oh... hmm.”

Another gulp of kanar while Weyoun considered the replicator. What was he doing? Trying new food surely wouldn't hold much pleasure for him. Though Damar considered that the Vorta really shouldn't be interested in sex either, and yet he was—and that could be blamed on Damar's own doing. It was he who had taken a great perverse joy in tempting the Vorta into sucking his ch'och, and then into letting Damar fuck him, but now Damar couldn't get rid of him. At some point Damar realized he had lost the upper hand in their 'game' and it had him seething. It had been all about power and control with Weyoun and Damar had enjoyed doing as he pleased with his toy. But now Weyoun was always demanding and taking control of the situation even as he keened and writhed beneath Damar. It was infuriating. Damar was growing far less interested in sex with the alien and much more distracted by thinking up clever plots to end his life so he could get a few moments peace before the next clone would arrive and start driving him mad yet again. 

Another gulp of kanar.

“There... yes... how... fascinating,” Weyoun pulled something from the replicator and held it in his hands. 

“Wha'ss it?” Damar barked, his voice taking on a slur with the kanar oozing through his system.

Weyoun turned to face him and Damar recognized the thing in his hands as sex toy. It was shaped vaguely similar to a prUt with a knobby projection at one end. Damar knew what it was for and he meant to protest that if Weyoun was thinking that he was going to fuck him with that thing then he had better think again—but instead what came out was:

“M'wife hss one of those,” Damar said.

Weyoun's face split into a slow, wide, grin.

“Really? Then I wonder if you're really so opposed to being fucked after all. I expected resistance from you. But I bet you like it, don't you? Oh, you pretend to be a force of power, and strength--” Weyoun moved closer to Damar with the toy in his hands, almost chest to chest, but not quite, “that typical Cardassian arrogance,” Weyoun narrowed his eyes, and wrapped his lips somehow sensually around each word, drawing it out, “But you enjoy it when you're made to serve a higher power—your wife, for example—oh, Damar, don't sneer. I do understand. After all such instinct and desire is hardwired into the Vorta.”

Damar pushed himself closer to the Vorta, invading his personal space, looming. He pushed his chest out and flared his neck ridges in clear signs of posturing and assertion of dominance.

“You dunno a'thing about me, Vorta,” Damar growled.

Weyoun laughed again, the sound ringing in Damar's ears and continuing to pump anger through his veins to mingle with the kanar that was beginning to numb him around the edges.

“I know that you're going to want this,” Weyoun said, “The effects of that horrid drink are not limited to dulling your wits. That thick kind especially does something for you, doesn't it?” Weyoun pushed his hips subtly forward and grinned up at Damar. 

It was true that Damar was slightly aroused. His chuva felt warm and the smoothly scaled lips that hid his prUt were swollen, and the head of his prUt was nudging them slightly apart. As close as they were there was no doubt that the Vorta could feel the bump it created in Damar's trousers.

“Or is it just me that does it for you?” Weyoun purred.

“I hate you,” Damar spat.

“The feeling, Damar, is quite mutual,” Weyoun said, lifting the toy in his hands so that it was between them and nearly touching Damar's full lower lip. “Be good and lick this for me.”

Damar snarled but he didn't step away either. He stared at the toy for some time, past it at Weyoun's terrible smug face, then back again at the toy and letting the Vorta's face disappear into an unfocused background blur. 

“If I let you do this you're out n'airlock soonss'we finish,” Damar said, wrapping his free hand around the shaft of the toy.

“You let me fuck you, and I let you kill me,” Weyoun pretended to consider, “I hardly find that a fair trade.”

“I do,” Damar said, yanking the toy away from Weyoun.

Damar carried it over to his kanar cabinet and perched himself on the edge of the furniture. He took another drink and stared down at the toy rubbing his thumb over the thick head of it.

“You enjoy being fucked, don't you?” Weyoun said, “but when is the last time you have been, I wonder? Certainly it isn't that difficult for a man like you to give in to your desires—you really seem to have very little self-control. Under most circumstances I find that characteristic about you to be appalling.”

“Dukat--” Damar began, then shook his head: he didn't need to mention to Weyoun that Dukat sometimes fucked him, “you're ap-pealing,” Damar huffed. He blinked slowly, realizing he'd said 'appealing' instead of what he'd meant to say, and growled, “I meant ap-palling!”

“Of course you did,” Weyoun crooned. He stepped towards Damar again and eased the bottle of kanar from his hand. Weyoun tilted the half-empty bottle until a thick drip of kanar spilled out and over the head of the toy making it glisten. “Lick it.”

Damar licked his lips as he stared down at the toy he was holding. The numbness was creeping in on him and at his core he felt warm and good. The tension in his muscles was easing away. Even the anger and frustration were beginning to abate at the powerful massaging fingers of kanar. Damar opened his mouth slowly, tilted his head towards the toy, and swiped his tongue over the glistening spot.

“Yesss,” the Vorta hissed, for a moment sounding more like a lustful Cardassian. Damar nuzzled the tip of the toy with his scaly nose. “Beautiful,” Weyoun breathed. 

Damar considered through an increasingly fuzzy mind that the Vorta couldn't have any real context for such a word, couldn't know what it meant, and yet Damar knew that he was a very good looking man. Perhaps, he thought, his ego flaring to meet the throb of his flushed neck ridges, his good looks had broken through the Vorta's genetic code and instilled a sense of aesthetics in him after all.

Damar chuckled.

Then he wrapped his lips around the toy and sucked on it looking the Vorta straight in his violet doe-eyes with his deep and burning blue ones. Weyoun raked his teeth over his lip and let out a little moan of approval. The Vorta dared to reach forward and slide his slender fingers into Damar's hair and grip. Damar told himself that he was still in charge, that he was allowing this, and that just because he was toying with the Vorta that did not mean that he had any intention of letting the nasty little creature fuck him. No intention of it at all. It was not going to happen.

“How... much of that can you swallow?” Weyoun asked, “I bet you're very good at that. You have such an... appealing... mouth... when it's not speaking.”

Had Damar been sober he would have easily seen how Weyoun was trying to manipulate him by appealing to his ego. He would have demanded him out for a third time. He would not have risen to the bait and dipped his head further to take the toy deeper into his mouth and throat, the shaft disappearing up to the knot-thing at the end which Damar knew was used to fit into an ajan so the toy could be used to fuck a partner. 

But Damar was certainly not sober.

Damar lifted his head and the toy slid out of his mouth glittering with spit. Thick strands hung from his lips to the toy and he wiped his mouth with his knuckles to break the ropy saliva.

“Dis-gusting,” Weyoun sounded both fascinated and repulsed.

“Whassamatter, Vorta? You can't handle a little spit?” Damar spat at him and it landed on Weyoun's chest where his chula would have been had he been Cardassian. Weyoun frowned. “It hasss to be sslick enough if you intend to put that in me.”

“Oh,” Weyoun said, “then... just a moment.”

Weyoun took the toy away from Damar and after some fumbling and adjusting he fitted the bulbous end into his opening and the toy jutted forward like a penile extension from the Vorta. Weyoun wagged his hips proudly.

“Now, get on your knees and continue sucking,” Weyoun said.

Damar huffed a breath through his nose and glared from beneath his heavy brow ridges. He pursed his lips considering. Another drink of kanar was a bad idea but he was too far into this now so he had one more and then lowered himself to the floor gracelessly. He had almost fallen onto his knees from his perch atop the cabinet. Damar pressed his fingertips to his temple for a moment. He couldn't tell if the toy was moving because Weyoun was still shifting his hips or if the kanar was making it lurch. Why are you doing this? Damar let the thought slide through his mind and he searched for an answer that he couldn't find, or maybe he just didn't want to embrace it: not only did he hate Weyoun, and the Dominion, but he was beginning to hate himself enough that just maybe it didn't matter anymore. Damar gripped the edge of his liquor cabinet as though that would help him to steady himself and he squeezed his eyes closed briefly. He reached out blindly for the false prUt in front of him and gripped it with one hand.

He kept his eyes closed as he tilted his head towards it. Searching for it blindly with his opened mouth caused him to bump his nose against it first, which made the thing jar. Weyoun made a surprised little sound of pleasure. Damar fit his mouth around the toy and sucked. It really felt more realistic in his mouth than the harder one that his wife used. If Damar let his mind wander a bit he could even imagine that he was sucking Dukat's prUt instead, something he was more familiar with, and something that wasn't attached to an irritating purplish alien. 

Damar felt the Vorta's fingers tangle into his hair as he continued. A bit longer and Weyoun was shifting his hips to meet Damar's bobbing head. More and Weyoun's fingers were pulling his hair, the toy was hitting the back of his throat, and Damar was gagging around it and drooling down his swollen lower lip and his chin. 

“Yes, yes, yesss!” Weyoun hissed. Both of his hands clutched the back of Damar's head and shoved him forward so violently that Damar saw stars bloom behind his eyelids and his throat spasmed. He jerked back and coughed up some kanar. The gag reflex hit him so hard that it came out of his nose too. Damar sat there with his eyes still closed, snuffling and trying to catch his breath, opening and closing his sour-tasting mouth.

“Fuck,” he finally rasped, lifting a trembling hand to swipe some of his hair out of his face. “You don' have to be so-”  
Damar's eyes were still closed so the smack and sting of the back of the Vorta's hand was shocking. It was forceful enough to whip Damar's head to the side. 

“Don't talk back to me, Damar,” Weyoun said, sounding sweet, and yet far more vicious than Damar would have thought possible.

Damar opened his eyes and glared up at the Vorta, snapped his teeth, snarled. It earned him a slap to the opposite side of his face. Briefly he wondered if there was something wrong with this clone. Violence didn't seem like something the Vorta were really capable of. But the way Weyoun's eyes were glinting at him and the ache in both of his cheeks was seeping into his jaw bone and causing him to rethink that assessment. 

“Leave,” Damar hissed lowly.

He struggled to his feet and lurched for the Vorta, intent on throwing him out into the hallway, but the room was moving too much. Instead of grabbing Weyoun, Damar was falling onto him, and Weyoun tried to hold him up but Damar was too heavy and too drunk. They toppled down to the floor instead and Damar began to bite at the Vorta's slender neck. There were no ridges to protect it and Damar was considering just biting him until he tasted blood and never looking back. But Weyoun began to make noises that sounded so good that Damar's arousal hit him hard and made him feel hot, aggressive, and in need. His prUt was completely everted, slick with lubricant, and swollen in his trousers. His chuva was throbbing and he humped against the Vorta's belly while the toy nudged one of his clothed ass cheeks. Damar took a moment to kick his boots off and wiggle out of his pants and toss them aside.

After he was completely undressed Damar took his mouth to one of Weyoun's strange ears instead of his neck. The Vorta cried more desperately, his fingers and nails clutching, and clawing, at the thick scales of Damar's back and shoulders. 

“Damar, Damar, oh!” Weyoun cried, “I want to fuck you! Let me fuck you--”

Damar rolled them so his back was against the floor and Weyoun was on top of him. Damar bent his legs at the knees and spread them. He gripped his prUt and slid his hand along the shaft to collect the lubricant until his fingers were coated with it and then Damar worked one of his fingers into his hole with a grunt.

“What... what are you doing?” Weyoun asked, shifting his position so he could watch Damar work, tipping his head down very close.

“Making sure you don't tear me open now—shut up—b'fore I change my mind and... set you on fire,” Damar grunted, pushing his finger in deeper.

“Set me on fire? Oh, I am already on fire, Damar. I am burning to fuck you ssso hard,” Weyoun said.

He wrapped his hand around Damar's prUt to collect more of the lubricant and then wriggled his smaller finger into Damar's hole too so that both of them were inside.

“Huh?” Damar shifted.

“I'm helping,” Weyoun said, “my, but that's very tight. Are you certain this toy will fit you?”

“Yes,” Damar said, “shut up.”

Damar closed his eyes while they both fingered his ass. Weyoun seemed to be growing more curious and trying to insert a second finger very soon. 

“Spit,” Damar demanded.

“Thats vile,” Weyoun said.

But after a pause Damar felt the warm saliva dripping against his stretched hole and he couldn't deny that it felt good. There was something else too. Damar opened his eyes again and tilted his head up to see that Weyoun was collecting his own lubricant that was dripping onto the floor from around the part of the toy that was inserted into Weyoun's ajan. His fingers slid easily into Damar then and Weyoun's liquids felt so warm inside of him and something in them was sending a delicious tingling sensation through the walls of Damar's hole.

“Fuck—oh Union be damned—do that again,” Damar growled.

Weyoun continued to finger Damar pausing now and then to gather more of his secretions and keep Damar good and wet. The tingling, warming, sensations seemed to penetrate so deeply. Damar wondered briefly why he'd never felt this sensation in his prUt when he had fucked Weyoun. It must have been something about it being inside of him—but he felt too good to think about anything for too long. Damn the Vorta, just damn him for this. Damn him for everything.

“Fuck me now,” Damar growled, “do it—do it now!”

Damar thrashed his head from side to side as Weyoun's prUt pushed into him. Weyoun didn't give him any time to adjust before beginning to rock his hips but Damar didn't really mind. Soon Damar was growling and demanding the Vorta to fuck him harder. Weyoun couldn't seem to get the kind of power behind his thrusts that Dukat, Rusot, or even his wife could, but the movements were kept at a quick pace and the angle was good and whatever Weyoun's juices were doing to him was still driving Damar crazy. The toy felt good in him and at the moment he had stopped caring about who was attached to it. A few times they needed to stop because Weyoun was so slick that the attachment kept falling out of him. Weyoun finally came with a shrill cry and his juices squirted and spilled out around the toy. Damar could feel the liquid pooling beneath his bottom as it ran over the floor. 

“Make me come,” Damar demanded.

“Ooh, ooh,” Weyoun was still riding his orgasm and the toy had fallen out of him again. Damar growled in frustration. “Yes, yes, alright,” Weyoun said.

He gripped the wet toy and pumped it like that instead and Damar jerked his prUt in time with the thrusts until he came too. The combination of his powerful orgasm and the amount of kanar in system was enough to almost slide him into unconsciousness. 

“Damar?” he heard the Vorta's voice through a very thick haze and he saw the Vorta leaning over him but the face was doubled, tripled, and fading into something so out of focus that now it looked like nothing at all.

When Damar woke again his head was throbbing. His mouth tasted sour and as though it had been stuffed with foam. He licked his lips a few times and grimaced. His ass hurt too and the air that hit his tongue was scented with the stale smell of his own dried cum and something musty and Vorta flavored. Damar groaned. 

He sat up and noted his bottom was sticky too, and so was the floor beneath it. He opened his eyes just a bit and waited for things to come into focus.

“Weyoun?” he called out as loudly as his raspy voice would allow.

There was no response.

Damar held his head for a moment and then he noticed the toy. It was just left discarded on the floor, the same as he was. Damar hissed lowly. He got to his feet and went to his liquor cabinet. The activities of the previous night were coming back to him in blurry bits. He filled his arms with the bottles of kanar left in the cabinet, took them to the reclaimation unit, and dumped them out one by one. Then he grabbed the toy from the floor and shoved that in too.

Damar leaned against the wall for a moment, grimacing at himself, and scrubbing his lips to try to rid his mouth of the tastes and scents that were offending him. He trudged to the refresher and stood round-shouldered under the sonic shower in hopes that he would feel better after.

The computer chirped at him in an automated voice to remind him that he had a meeting with Dukat and Weyoun in an hour. Damar did not recall setting the alarm. Weyoun had probably set it before he'd left. Damar sighed and he dreaded the meeting that was to follow. The last thing he wanted to do was to see Weyoun now and feel the Vorta's eyes on him after he had fucked him like that. 

“I'm going to kill him,” Damar muttered.


	2. Dukat Has A Fantasy - Dukat/Damar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food play/feeding, belly play, pregnancy kink, slight humiliation.

Note unrelated to the chapter: For anyone wondering I am still working on Vestige, and Rain. When I get frustrated with plot driven stories I tend to write pwp things. I'm slow and I'm annoyed with my other stories right now. But I am not abandoning them.  
Note related to the chapter: Finished this in a hurry because I need to get to work but wanted to post it before leaving. Sorry for any mistakes. I will edit it when I get home.

 

-

“Damaar,” Dukat crooned at his officer as Damar entered his quarters and strode towards the table. Dukat was seated already and the table was piled full of various Cardassian dishes. Damar pursed his lips as he looked down at them, one hand resting on the back of the empty chair, before pulling it out and sitting down. 

“I wasn't expecting that you were inviting me to your quarters for dinner,” Damar said.

Dukat gave him a slow smile.

“You don't think I'm capable of such generosity? Such thoughtfulness? Damar, I merely thought that it might be pleasurable to have company to dine with. After all for a Cardassian a meal is more than the food. It is conversation, discussion, and the food, of course.” Dukat began to heap food onto Damar's plate. The other man regarded him with those pursed lips and a look that could only be described as suspicious. 

Dukat finished loading Damar's plate and took a bite of some mashed root vegetables from his own. Damar seemed to be regarding both plates and the differences in each: Dukat's modest portions, Damar's almost overflowing. 

“I have had a long day,” Damar said, lifting his fork, “and I forgot to eat at midday.”

“Then don't let me stop you. Dig in. I will be more than happy to make my own conversation while you sate your hunger,” Dukat said.

Damar gave a stiff nod and began to shovel food into his mouth. Dukat curled his lip. Damar had never been the neatest at the table and he tended to eat more quickly and join in the conversation less often than most Cardassians would. That was fine as far as Dukat was concerned; after all he did so enjoy the sound of his own voice and he always had so many important things to say.

Now and then Damar paused for brief response but Dukat urged him to continue concentrating his attention on his plate upon which the piles of food were rapidly dwindling. Before Damar could have the last bite of his food Dukat stopped him, dropped his conversation in mid sentence, and filled his plate again. He lifted a napikin and dabbed a bit of yamok sauce from Damar's chin.

“I guess I was hungrier than I thought,” Damar said, spearing a hunk of meat.

“A man should have a good appetite, and it is so very pleasing to be able to feed one's mate,” Dukat said.

Damar scowled at Dukat as he chewed his meat and then swallowed.

“I'm not your mate,” Damar said.  


“No, but you are a... valued... companion,” Dukat said, “and this pleases me,” he gestured with his hand at Damar's plate, “continue.”

When the second plate was finished Damar leaned back in his chair again.

“Thank you,” he said, “that was satisfying.”

“Hmm,” Dukat hummed, “you're finished?”

“Yes,” Damar said, “but you could pour me another glass of kanar,” Damar lifted his empty glass and gestured.

Normally Dukat would have commented about the way Damar was almost ordering him to do something. It wasn't something one should ask of their superior officer but Dukat decided to let it slide this once. Damar's arrogance was peeking through a bit and Dukat could not help but appreciate it. Damar was a handsome man and Dukat enjoyed having him submit, but on the other hand, his confidence could be quite attractive too. 

“I'll pour you another glass,” Dukat said, “but... I think you could have a bit more. You're not too full, are you? There's no need to worry about indulging too much in front of me. There's more than enough here and I certainly don't mind.”

Dukat rose from the table and moved languidly towards Damar with the bottle of kanar in his hand. He leaned over Damar's shoulder to pour another generous glass. He sat the bottle down and began to unlatch Damar's back and chest armor. He sat it aside and still hovering behind his seated companion he slid his hands over the broad chest and down Damar's torso to rest briefly against his belly. It was already poking out a bit, nice and full from two generous platefuls of food, but it was only a subtle curve to the trim and well-kept figure. Dukat wanted to see more than that. He hooked his thumbs behind the waistband of Damar's trousers and loosened the fastening. Damar gave a small sigh of relief.

“There,” Dukat said, “now, you're going to have some more, aren't you?”

Damar didn't answer him but was giving a somewhat moody look from beneath his handsome brow ridges. Dukat watched him think. This was a scenario Dukat had brought up to Damar several times before but Damar had never agreed to indulge him in such a way. Dukat could tell that Damar was thinking it over. He brought his mouth near to Damar's neck ridges and let his warm breath slide over the handsome scales that flared at the base of Damar's strong neck. 

“Fine... just this once,” Damar said. He lifted his fork, “just a little more.”

Dukat's face split into a pleased grin. He began to fill the plate for a third time while he and Damar squabbled over what was 'just a little more'. Damar huffed at Dukat's control over his portions but he finally gave up the protest. Dukat watched him eat and encouraged him to continue when he slowed down, stroking his neck ridges, dipping his fingers into Damar's chula. It took longer for Damar to finish this time but he managed it.

“Good, good,” Dukat said, leaning over his shoulder and admiring the empty plate. He poured Damar another glass of kanar which emptied the bottle. Dukat slid his hand into Damar's pants and Damar parted his legs a bit to allow his superior better access. His prUt was already partially everted. Dukat stroked the wet nub languidly.

“Hmm,” he hummed, “there is one thing we seem to have forgotten.”

“Mm?” Damar asked, licking kanar from his lips.

“Dessert,” Dukat said.

“No,” Damar grunted, “no more.”

Dukat grabbed the back of Damar's chair and tugged it back from the table a bit with Damar in it. 

“I disagree,” Dukat said. He came around to the front of the chair and inserted himself between Damar and the table spreading his long and slender legs to straddle the other man. He sat down on Damar's lap, facing him, and reached behind him to feel around on the table. He knocked over something, stuck his hand into the mashed roots, and then found what he was looking for. His hand closed over a square of dessert flatbread. It was dotted with sweet little seeds and drizzled with Delavian chocolate. Dukat tore off a corner and pressed it to Damar's pouty lips.

“Just a little for me,” Dukat crooned sweetly.

Damar flicked his tongue out and caught a bit of the sweet and spicy chocolate sauce. He opened his mouth reluctantly and allowed Dukat feed him the bite. Dukat could tell from the way Damar's glare melted a bit that the dessert tasted good to him.

“There,” Dukat said, and lifted a hand to stroke Damar's hair appreciatively, “that's good. We'll be slow—after all I am a fair and considerate partner.”

Dukat continued to tear pieces of the flatbread and feed it to Damar. Now and then he would lean forward to lick a bit of the chocolate from Damar's lips. It was really a treat in many more ways than one, Dukat thought, after all he was growing increasingly aroused himself, and he also didn't make a habit of kissing Damar like this, or being so gentle with him; their play was usually much rougher and hinged on dominance and submission. This play was still laced with it but it was much different and Dukat thought that Damar should be pleased with his attentions.

“I think that's enough now,” Dukat said. He had managed to get two pieces of the dessert bread into Damar and another half bottle of kanar. Damar was grimacing and groaning now though so Dukat thought that this was a good point to allow him to stop. “How do you feel?” Dukat cooed, leaning forward to swipe his tongue over the chocolately ridges of Damar's nose. The last few bites Damar had began to thrash his head like a defiant child and he had made a mess. 

“I feel uncomfortable,” Damar growled, “and it... ugh... hurts.”

Dukat glanced down at Damar's distended belly that was pressing against the prUt bulge in his pants and against his own slender abdomen. A shiver of pleasure began in Dukat's neck ridges and slid down his spine and deep into his core.

“Ohh,” he shifted his hips for subtle friction against Damar's belly and then slid out of his lap, “I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable,” Dukat said.  
Damar snorted.

“Never,” Damar said, his sarcasm quite obvious.

“You think I'm cruel to you, Damar?” Dukat said, offering his hand. Damar regarded it.

“I can't decide,” he said, and took Dukat's hand, and hefted himself with a groan from his chair. Damar glanced down at his swollen middle with a curl of his lip, “I don't understand what pleases you about this,” he muttered, as Dukat tugged him towards the bedroom. 

“Sit down on the corner of the bed there,” Dukat said, “and I'll be nice to you.”

Damar lowered himself carefully, groaning again. 

“Let's get that undershirt off of you,” Dukat purred, “it looks ready to burst at the seams.”

“Just the way I feel,” Damar said.

He lifted his arms above his head to allow Dukat to peel the shirt off of him and up over his head. Dukat knelt to remove his boots, and then his pants, leaving Damar nude. Damar began to rub at his belly but Dukat pushed his hands away.

“Allow me,” Dukat said, still kneeling. He pushed Damar's legs apart so he could settle himself between them and began to slid his hands over the curve of Damar's stomach with appreciation. He pressed a bit to test the firmness. “My goodness, it's very tight, isn't it.”

Damar grimaced.

“So round, Damar. It looks very good on you—a well fed partner--”

“Well-fed and over-fed are not the same thing,” Damar grumbled.

“Is a pleasure,” Dukat said, continuing stroke Damar's belly. “Lean back on your arms a bit, yes, like that,” Dukat instructed. The position caused Damar's tummy to appear to poke out even further. Dukat's mouth was watering and his prUt ached. “You look pregnant, Damar, as though you're carrying my egg in here.” 

Dukat's neck ridges flared and darkened even further.

“That's impossible--”

“Be silent and stop distracting me from my fantasy,” Dukat chided, his tone taking on a sharper edge. Damar closed his mouth, his lips pouty, and still a bit smeared with chocolate. “Besides, I think you like this. Your prUt would certainly agree, and I know you to be a man who likes to indulge. I think your downfall, Damar, is that you are greedy in your pleasures. I would never allow such things to consume me—kanar, good food, a tight, willing, ajan, a long, slick, prUt... no, I am a disciplined man, Damar. I don't allow myself to fall prey to the temptations that undo most proud men. But you just can't help yourself.”

Dukat ducked his head to find Damar's chuva and licked the swollen teardrop shape and then swiped his tongue in a long trail over the curve of Damar's full belly.

“Oooh, yesss,” Dukat hissed, rubbing his neck ridges against it too. He glanced up at Damar who didn't seem to be enjoying himself quite as much as Dukat was. “Damar, you can't expect to me to believe this doesn't interest you. Look down at your belly, how round it is—didn't it make you crazy when your wife was full and round like this, carrying your child inside of her? Didn't you enjoy having your hands all over her like this, feeling how firm and heavy this is, knowing that your mighty prUt made her that way—oh--didn't she look perfect?” 

Damar was staring down at his middle and licking his lips now.

“Yes,” he admitted, “I couldn't keep my hands off of her. She was... intoxicating,” Damar said.

“Mm,” Dukat hummed, “that's because you and I know how a woman should be. She is made to carry our offspring. I'm certain you would have enjoyed seeing your wife this way more often. It's a shame, really, that... she... wasn't able to give you more children. My wife will give me as many as I desire.”

Damar grunted and tipped his head back to stare moodily at the ceiling. Dukat only looked at him briefly and then turned his attention back to his fantasy. He pressed Damar's prUt to the curve of his belly and rubbed it gently against that curve and the flushing chuva. Damar sighed and Dukat knew that the pleasure was winning out over the stomach ache and the annoyance at Dukat bringing up the sensitive subject of offspring. Damar always bristled at it and while Dukat had never asked him about it outright he certainly believed that he knew why that was. 

Dukat dipped his head and swirled his tongue around the tip of Damar's prUt pressing his ridged forehead and chufa against Damar's belly. He teased Damar's prUt for awhile, not taking it any deeper, not stroking it but just keep a firm grip at the base and licking the head like it was a sweet jumja stick. 

“Damar,” Dukat purred, “I think I'd like you to fuck me tonight.”

Damar propped himself up on his elbows.

“You would?” he asked, seeming surprised at the request.

“Did I ssstutter?” Dukat hissed, standing, and beginning to undress himself.

“No,” Damar said. With some effort he sat up all the way and waited for Dukat to instruct him. 

After Dukat was undressed he ordered Damar off the bed and took his place sprawled out on his back with his long, lean, body on display. Dukat's chuen and ridges were swollen and colored a deep charcoal with arousal. His prUt was fully everted, longer than Damar's by a little bit, but more slender and curved. Damar's prUt quite thick and perfect: at least it was visually, Dukat thought, a smirk curling the corners of his lips. Dukat bent his legs and spread them. Damar grabbed him by the dips of his hips and drew him closer so his ass was at the edge of the bed. 

“I think you can eat one more thing for me before we begin,” Dukat said, hooking his hands beneath his legs and sliding them down his thighs to his ass to spread the cheeks, “I need to be ready in order to take a nice, thick, ch'och like that one you have, Damar.”  
Dukat wondered if Damar understood that Dukat was mocking him. It was a very appealing prUt but it didn't get the job done, Dukat suspected, when it came to reproduction, and that was the most important part after all. 

Damar lowered himself and Dukat could only see the top of his inky black hair as Damar worked him with his wonderful mouth. Dukat did not hold back his hisses and groans of pleasure. He tangled his hand in Damar's messy locks and demanded him to keep going, sliding his tongue in and out, making him loose, and dripping, and hot. 

Dukat gripped his hair tightly when he began to tremble.

“Enough,” Dukat said, “I want you to fuck me now.”

Damar reappeared above him, his face glistening with spit. He hoisted Dukat's lanky legs over his sturdy shoulders and pushed his prUt into Dukat with one thrust. Dukat tipped his head back and sighed in pleasure. Damar's ch'och made him feel full inside and Damar's heavy belly was pressing down against him and driving him mad. Dukat raked his short claws along his exposed neck and ridges while Damar fucked him hard, and slow, a reflection of the man's power combined with the big meal and kanar making him sluggish.

“Harder, harder, Damar!” Dukat demanded, digging his claws into the spaces between the engorged scales of his neck ridges. 

They rutted for what seemed like a very long time, Damar's forceful thrusts causing the bed to jar at several points. Their grunts, growls, and hisses mingled together as though they had become nothing more than primal, primitive, reptiles, fucking deep in the ancient jungles.

Damar came with a roar and Dukat ordered him back onto the bed, straddled the hump of his belly, and rutted against it until he came too, his seed spraying of Damar's smooth gray skin.

“I suppose since you're carrying my egg,” Dukat said, “you could... stay in my bed tonight.”

He regarded Damar who seemed to spent to move anyway. The man looked as if he was ready to fall into a deep hibernation. Dukat grinned down at Damar with his heavily lidded eyes and his arms spread out across the bed. Dukat curled up next to him and draped his arm protectively over the 'egg'.

“I wonder what we'll name it?” Dukat yawned.

“Shut up,” Damar said.

Dukat was shocked—Damar would rarely be so bold. But rather than chastise him for it Dukat merely laughed.

“No, Damar, I don't think that's a very good name at all.”


	3. Daddy, Please - Garak/Ziyal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex in the dark, Daddy kink, humping/grinding, crying, hard fucking, scratching, bruises.
> 
> Just gonna say this now: if you're going to comment something about Garak/Ziyal not being canon, or something about their age gap, or whatever, just don't. If you don't like it don't read it, simple as that. I don't want to hear any B.S. Otherwise comments are very encouraged. :) Thanks! I intend to have more chapters with Garak/Ziyal because I actually really liked writing this one. Some of them might explore more of the 'Daddy' thing, but others won't, as I do have other ideas for them. Spoiler--I like the idea of Ziyal wanting to experiment with paint or body paint with Garak since she's loves art. She could certainly make Garak's body into a work of art, and I think he's open to trying things. Anyhow, enough of this and on to the chapter. (I would actually be interested in hearing what people think of Garak in this one. I'm trying to experiment a bit with how I write him because I want to start writing him 'better'.)

Garak had been working late in his shop, bent over a low light, the eyepiece that he used for delicate work wedged comfortably into one of his orbital ridges, when a gentle rapping drew him out of his concentration. He had been doing very intricate embroidery on a robe for a Romulan client who wished to wear it on the night of her wedding and it was due to be collected soon. But Garak's fingers were aching so he sat his tools aside and rose from his chair, hissing lowly at a catch in his back. 

“I'm coming,” Garak said.

He plucked the eyepiece out of place and strode towards the back entrance to his shop. Only few people would dare to tap there this late at night when by the look of the front of his shop it was closed. He opened the door to find Ziyal standing there clutching a sheet of paper in her hands and smiling up at him in that innocent way.

“Ah... Ziyal,” Garak said, giving her a small bow, “isn't it a bit late for a visit?”

“I... suppose it is. I didn't disturb you, did I?” she asked.

“No, of course not,” Garak said, “in fact, I was just considering retiring my project for the night and heading back to my quarters,” he lied, but now that they were chatting, it did seem like an idea worth entertaining.

“Oh? Well... maybe I could come too,” Ziyal said.

“Perhaps,” Garak tilted his head, “but did you come tapping on my door for a specific reason? It must have taken some doing to sneak out at this hour—your father certainly doesn't approve of you wandering the station at what passes for night, does he?”

“I don't always do everything that my father approves of,” Ziyal said, “I have my own desires too, you know.”

Garak considered how she'd come to him and boldly invited him to a steamy bask in the holosuites, and how she'd waved a weapon at him, and with a subtle widening of his eyes he nodded.

“Yes, I suppose you do.”

“I do,” Ziyal said more firmly, “I brought this painting along with me. I was going to ask you what you thought of it aesthetically speaking but... I really just wanted to see you.”

Garak took a deep breath, let it burn in his chest, and let it out slowly through his nose. Sometimes he wasn't sure what he truly thought of the young woman—she was so many things, and more than most people thought she was, and she was Cardassian, pretty, and the combination of her innocence inlaid with unexpectedly bold advances had a certain way of undoing him that was just a bit unnerving. Garak had never intended to become involved with her but they had at some point crossed certain lines and the truth of the matter was that Garak was lonely and he wanted the companionship that she offered him. 

“I don't understand why,” Garak said, a rare moment in which he was speaking the complete truth.

“Because you're handsome, and intelligent, and kin--”  


Garak held a hand up to stop her.

“My dear, if you do plan to accompany me to my quarters, I suggest you stop speaking before you say something I regret,” Garak said. 

He wasn't very fond of it after all when she insisted silly things about him, such as this 'kindness' nonsense. 

“Alright,” Ziyal said, “but let's get going—I don't have all night, after all. My father might wake up and notice I'm missing.”

Garak noted how she said this with both unease, and excitement, as though the idea of upsetting her father by being out to see him was both distressing, and thrilling. Garak's eyes twinkled at her. The idea of irritating Dukat in any manner always gave Garak such delight. 

He offered his elbow to Ziyal.

She took it and they walked together to the turbolift and then to Garak's quarters.

Ziyal abandoned her painting on the coffee table and when Garak moved towards the sofa she went still which caused him to stop too since she was still holding on to his elbow. She tilted her head towards his bedroom. 

“I'm cold,” Ziyal said, “why don't we just... curl up all nice and cozy in your bed?”

Garak could not say no to the offer of a hot body pressed to his. He craved the warmth and contact more desperately than he cared to admit to himself.

“Very well, if that's what you like,” Garak said, pretending that it didn't matter much to him either way.

They undressed in the darkness of Garak's bedroom and crawled beneath the heavy blankets. Their limbs entwined and curled around one another. Ziyal wiggled and shimmied to press herself against Garak's soft belly, and strong, wide, chest. Garak willed himself to keep breathing steadily as he felt her hips against his, the gentle rise and fall of her belly as she breathed, her soft breasts pressed to his chest, their chula's bumping. His hand found her back and caressed the scales there. Her Bajoran heritage made them feel smoother, less pronounced, but he knew from experience that her Cardassian areas were just as sensitive as any Cardassian person's anatomy would have been. Ziyal gave a small sigh of pleasure.

“That's nice,” she said, and tucked her head beneath Garak's chin.

They lay like that for a long while just lazily petting and stroking each other and sharing their body heat. But after awhile Ziyal began to mouth and nibble along Garak's collarbone, and up the slope of his shoulder and neck ridges.

Her mouth felt so lovely and Garak closed his eyes to enjoy the light scrape of her sharp teeth and the slick wet ministrations of her tongue. He breathed in her scent: an interesting combination of familiarity, laced with alien undertones. 

Ziyal shifted. The blankets made subtle noises as she rearranged her legs so that she and Garak fit together like a little puzzle. The scaled slit that hid his prUt rested firmly against her thigh, and her legs were parted around his too, so that her ajan pressed flush against his thigh too. Hers was already hot and slightly parted though, leaving wet little kisses against his skin as she shifted and moved. 

“I like being with you, Garak,” Ziyal said.

Garak hummed in response, not certain how to answer her, or if it was in either of their best interests for him to answer anyway.

“You make me feel good,” she continued, “and you... have taught me things, and you don't mind that I have ridges on my nose.”

“A man who is lonely, my dear, tends to be more willing to overlook certain... flaws,” Garak said.

Ziyal huffed.

“Why do you do that? You don't have to act as though you don't like me—I know you do, or you wouldn't allow me to be in your bed!”

Garak laughed.

“If you truly think that 'liking' someone and sleeping with them must go hand in hand, you are quite mistaken. I suppose I can't blame you, though. You're very young, and inexperienced.”

Ziyal growled.

“I may be inexperienced, but I'm no child,” she said.

“With that petulant tone to your voice I would daresay otherwise, my dear little girl,” Garak said.

“Oh!” Ziyal gasped and her hips snapped forward, surprising both of them.

“Hmmm,” Garak regarded her shadowy form in the darkness. What an interesting reaction. He could feel the heat radiating from her body grow hotter, and more intense. “What an interesting response.”

He could feel Ziyal's ajan dripping slick liquid onto his thigh. He hissed lowly.

“You might not like it when I say these things under other circumstances. But...” Garak gripped one of Ziyal's wrists firmly beneath the blankets, “I think you're very obviously giving away to me how you feel about it in the dark, when you are alone with your fantasies, or alone with me.”

“Elim!” Ziyal whined. She arched her back, her chest heaving with her breaths, and pressing more firmly against Garak's.

“Is that what you want to call me?” Garak asked, tilting his head at her, “or... would something else bring you more pleasure?”

He could sense Ziyal blushing. He listened to her breathing. He shifted himself back so that they were no longer pressed flush together, but his knee came up between her legs, and nudged at her ajan.

“Ohhh,” Ziyal keened, “I... I don't know what I would call you other than... your name.”

“Hm,” Garak let go of her wrist and slid his fingertips along the curve of her jaw and to her smooth chin, “but if I'm to call my lovely little girl pet names, then I think you should address me appropriately in turn. After all, I am your elder and there is the issue of respect.”

“I could call you yadik,” Ziyal suggested, shuddering as she spoke the word.

“Dear, no. That's what you call your father and I won't be having thoughts of him invade our delicious private times,” Garak said, frowning in the darkness, “that just won't do.”

“Maybe... the Bajoran term, then,” Ziyal suggested, shifting her hips to grind her ajan a bit against Garak's scaley knee.

“No,” Garak said firmly, “but... I do happen to know the Terran word for yadik.”

“How do you--”

“My dear, don't ask too many questions of me,” Garak said, “the word is 'Daddy'.”

Ziyal repeated the word slowly.

“Daddy...” she said, “mm... I think I like it.”

“Very good then,” Garak said, “but you're being very naughty rubbing your horny little ajan all over Daddy.”

Ziyal made a lovely noise at that and her claws scraped at Garak's chest. Garak hissed with pleasure.

“But I—but I want...” 

“But you want what, my dear girl?” 

“I want you, Daddy. Badly,” Ziyal said, pressing herself down more firmly, “Daddy please, touch me.”

Garak rolled them so that Ziyal was beneath him now. He paused to toss away the blankets so that their movements would be less restricted. He could see Ziyal beneath him, her head rested on a pillow, tilted back to expose her smooth, unguarded throat. Her breasts looked so soft and round and the grayish centers were bunched and hard like pebbles. She pulled her legs up for him, knees hooked into elbows, thighs spread wide and ajan on display and smelling so strongly of her arousal. Garak sipped the air and sighed.

His slit was wet too and his prUt was parting the opening to peek out. He wanted to pass his hand over the head of it for a little rub but he held back instead opting to pay attention to Ziyal just now instead of himself.

“Oh, my dear,” Garak breathed, “look at how you put yourself on display. What a good girl—so eager to please Daddy, aren't you?”

“Yes, I am,” Ziyal said, “maybe I don't know how to do a lot of things... and sometimes... your heavy prUt makes me choke. But I want to do better, and I want to learn... I want to learn all kinds of things to please you. But sometimes my young ajan is weak. Please... will you just touch your bad little girl, Daddy? I need you so bad!”

Though Garak was quite interested to explore more aspects of this play that they had discovered he found that he could not deny her his touch just now.

He pressed the butt of his hand solidly to Ziyal's ajan and rubbed with pressure. Ziyal practically sobbed in response. Her thighs were shaking with pleasure while pressed against her ajan in a firm, circular, motion, urging the slit to open. 

“Oh, oh! Oh, Elim—Elim—Daddy, please! Please fuck me! Please!” she begged.

Garak usually preferred to play with his partners longer than this but she had gotten wound up quickly tonight. He imagined that she'd been in her quarters teasing her ajan all day, thinking of him, growing wet and hot but unable to fully satisfy herself. The fantasy caused Garak's prUt to swell and push fully out now. He shivered with pleasure and gripped Ziyal's thighs.

“Oh yesss,” Garak hissed, “don't you worry, my lovely little girl, Daddy is going to fuck you breathless.”

Her ajan was open for him so he pushed into her and settled himself as deeply as he could. She let go of her legs and gripped Garak's shoulders instead. Garak liked the way her claws bit his scales, the way she gripped him as though she was afraid to let go, the way it hurt. 

“Hard, hard!” Ziyal begged.

Garak decided there was no need to hold back now unless Ziyal told him to stop. Their previous explorations had been more cautious and mild but tonight it seemed that they both needed something more. Garak put all of his strength behind his thrusts and had the bed not been secured to the floor it would have been rocking and jolting against the wall. Garak grunted as he thrust into her and Ziyal cried out until she was screaming and their bodies were slapping together with so much force that it made Garak's teeth hurt. 

Ziyal's claws dug at him and Garak thought he had forgotten how to breathe when his orgasm hit him suddenly, and harder than he'd had for a very long time. Ziyal arched against him and reared up, slamming her bony forehead against his in the throes of the powerful orgasm that was twisting her violently beneath him. Garak saw stars from the crack of their heads but luckily the ridges and bone were strong enough that there would be nothing to suffer from it but a headache. Garak let out a shuddering breath. 

The bed was wet beneath them and more liquids, both his and hers, leaked out onto the sheets when he pulled out of her. Their scents mingled together so strongly that it was almost overpowering. Ziyal was still twitching, and spasming, crying and sobbing and she was gulping in great shuddering breaths. 

“Shhh, shhh,” Garak leaned over her and smoothed his fingers over her hair attempting to soothe her. Her noises dulled down to little whimpers and sniffles.

“Ohh,” she said at last, in a very small voice hoarse from the screaming, “oh, Elim... I've never felt anything so... so... mmm.”

Garak found it somehow sweet that she couldn't find her words, and he was glad that he'd managed to make her feel so good. He was particularly sated himself and feeling more like after-cuddling than he generally would have. He decided it was okay to give in to such desires just for now, and he curled up next to her and drew her shivering body into his arms.

They fell asleep together without worrying about the mess. When both of them woke in the morning they were both sore and sour-smelling though. Ziyal attempted to ask Garak if she could use the refresher but her throat was to raw to make much noise. However he had understood what she needed, and with a sweeping hand gesture, he had motioned towards the refresher with an 'after you' allowing her to use it first while he went about gathering up the ruined sheets and stuffing them into the reclaimation unit. He replicated new ones and made the bed, then padded around his quarters nude, with a cup of red leaf tea and a smile on his face that he just couldn't seem to put away.

Garak thought that it was most unsettling; and yet he knew now more than ever that he would not turn her away when she came trailing after him with gentle (and sometimes not so gentle) insistence that they spend time together, and her absurd assertions that he was 'kind'. How kind could he be, he reasoned as he watched Ziyal emerge from the refresher and move about to find her clothing, that he left her pale bottom and thighs dark purple and black from such a hard and vigorous fucking. Certainly not kind, he said to himself, dismissing the fact that her orgasm had been so powerful that she'd been weeping on his sheets. Not so kind at all: after all he was taking advantage of her, wasn't he? It wasn't as though they could be anything more—though Ziyal had never expressed that she thought anything to the contrary. Still, she was young, and she must hold the hopes of a future spent bonded to someone, with family, and children, not just sneaking, and fucking, and playing games behind Dukat's back. It was good for now—it was delightfully delicious for now—but it was not what Ziyal deserved, and not what she needed.

“Until we meet again... Daddy...” Ziyal teased as she hovered by the door, fully dressed now. Her hair was damp and hanging down in beautiful shimmering waves over her shoulders as though she was a lovely image from one of her own paintings with her hair made of fresh ink still glistening against the canvas. 

Garak gave her a polite nod.

“Goodbye, Ziyal,” he said.


	4. Kanar For Two: Damar/Dukat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damar/Dukat. Kanar, butt plug, ass eating, body shots sort of, scratching. Damar tops. Dukat tries to pretend he's still in charge.
> 
> I wrote this while really sleepy. Sorry for mistakes.

Damar sat at Quark's bar and stared down into a shot glass. It was empty save for the slightest ring of pale kanar left at the very bottom. Damar had his chin propped in one hand. He drew the tip of his index finger slowly around the edge of the glass. 

“You look like you're thinking of someone,” Quark said lowly, leaning over the bar, “another drink?” Quark lifted the bottle of kanar, offering.

“Hnf,” Damar snorted, “I'm certainly not thinking of you. No... no, I think I've had enough for tonight.”

Damar straightened on his stool.

“That's really a shame. I enjoy your company, Damar,” Quark said.

“You mean you enjoy my latinum.”

Quark shrugged.

“Same thing,” the smaller man said. He gave Damar a sharp-toothed grin.

Damar rose from his stool but his eyes lingered on the bottle of kanar clutched in Quark's small, orangey, hand.

“On second thought, I'll take that bottle with me.”

Damar left some latinum on the counter for Quark and made his exit with the half-empty bottle in hand. Quark had been right, he had been thinking of someone. Fantasizing was more like it. His pants felt a little too tight but he was certain he would be out of them soon. Dukat was always up for a fuck—unless he had a woman with him. 

A threesome, maybe, Damar thought. He gave a lopsided grin at that idea.

Oh, unless it's a Bajoran woman. Then certainly not.

Damar headed to Dukat's quarters and entered a code that would allow him access. Dukat could be paranoid and it was a testament of just how much he trusted Damar that Damar knew this code at all. The door swished open and Damar stepped inside. In his fantasy Dukat was laid out naked for him already, his long, slender, body draped over the angular sofa in the main room of Dukat's quarters. He wasn't, though. Damar pushed his lower lip out. What a shame.

“Damar,” Dukat said, striding to the door, and motioning the other man inside, “and... kanar,” Dukat added, his gaze falling to the bottle in Damar's hand.

“An astute observation,” Damar said.

The door whooshed closed behind him.

“Now, Damar, don't take that sarcastic tone with me. I am your superior officer, after all,” Dukat said.

Damar made it an obvious point to look Dukat up and down.  


“We're both out of uniform,” Damar said.

A slow smile spread across Dukat's thin face.

“So we are.”

“Care for a drink?” Damar asked, lifting the bottle.

Dukat took the bottle and a small swig then handed it back. 

“Oh, that's not a very good vintage,” Dukat said.

“If I was a legate, maybe I could afford to drink better,” Damar retorted.

“Perhaps,” Dukat answered, craning his neck at Damar, “tell me, Damar, why have you come to my quarters so late at night? You seem in quite an argumentative mood...”

“Something like that,” Damar said, taking a step into Dukat's personal space. Their chests were nearly touching now.

“Oh, I see,” Dukat purred, “well... I'm not in the habit of turning away a good fuck. After all, how unkind of me would it be to send you away... unsatisfied... and wanting? I certainly can't blame you for wanting me, after all. I find myself to be the object of lust for many. It is a difficult position to be in, Damar. You should see the disappointment that comes into the eyes of those I am forced to turn away. It breaks my heart to be so harsh.”

“Well, I didn't come here to talk,” Damar said, boldly gripping the front of Dukat's plain black tunic. Dukat's eyes widened slightly.

“Why, Damar—it isn't often you're so bold with me. Have you forgotten how may times I've had you on your knees for me, bound up like a nice little gift, allowing you to tend to my every whim...”

“I'm not feeling very submissive tonight,” Damar growled, but then he thought better of it, and added, “uh... sir.”

Dukat laughed.

“Ohhh. Damar. I suppose I could indulge you this once. What is it that you wish to do to me?” Dukat said, his voice slow, melodic, and curious.

“I want you out of those clothes first. I want to see you,” Damar said gruffly.

“Well, of course you do,” Dukat said. There was a hidden zipper in the front seem of his tunic and he slid it down and shrugged out of the garment. There was a thin undershirt beneath and that came off next. Dukat laid the shirts aside over the back of the sofa while Damar watched him with an appreciative gaze. 

Dukat was very lean for a full-grown Cardassian male. To hear Dukat speak of himself it was clear that the man thought himself the most handsome being to ever have walked the face of Prime. In reality his body type wasn't really sought after. He would have been considered scrawny. Damar wondered briefly if that had anything to do with why Dukat was so distracted by Bajoran women—they probably didn't know any better and he could get them to tell him anything to suit his ego.

Even so, Damar couldn't help but appreciate Dukat's figure. It might not be ideal, but Damar had never really cared much about such things anyway. He'd been told over and over that his own wife was fell far from the Cardassian beauty standard for a woman—but he had never cared about that either. Damar found his wife attractive, and he found Dukat attractive too. Lucky for them, Damar thought, because I've got a great prUt for fucking them both senseless.

Dukat's boots and pants were off next and the man stood before him fully nude and on display. Dukat squared his shoulders and puffed his chest and neck ridges. Oh, but Dukat did have a lovely neck. No one would ever be able to argue against that. Damar watched him tilt his head slowly to one side, licked his lips as the neck muscles worked, as the scales there grew darker. 

“And what now, Damar?” Dukat said, “you had better think of something before I grow bored and lose interest.”

“I can think of plenty of things,” Damar said. He moved up on Dukat until he forced the other man down onto the sofa. Damar used one booted foot to kick Dukat's feet apart and spread his lanky legs wide. 

Damar stepped in between them.

Dukat peered up at him expectantly, a smirk twisting his thin lips, almost as if he thought Damar wouldn't last long at this 'dominant' thing. Damar gripped Dukat's chin in one hand. He still had the bottle of kanar in the other. 

“Open,” Damar said.

To his surprise Dukat actually complied without argument. Damar stared down at Dukat's parted lips. They were thin and delicate looking, and they seemed soft up against his teeth, his tongue hiding wet and warm inside the dark crevasse of his mouth. Damar flicked his tongue out over his full lower lip and tipped some kanar into Dukat's mouth. The liquid filled Dukat's mouth, breached the dam of his teeth, and dripped over his lower lip and glistened. Damar leaned forward and licked Dukat's lip and then fitted his mouth over Dukat's and slid his tongue inside and into the pool of warm kanar. Dukat's tongue responded and pushed the liquid into Damar's mouth. Damar swallowed it down and then licked the drip from Dukat's chin. 

“Ohh,” Dukat sighed, “that was... rather nice.”

“Yes,” Damar agreed, “but I want more.”

Damar poured the kanar into Dukat's mouth again and they stayed joined longer this time, trading deep-mouthed kisses, kanar, and spit. The alcohol ran from the corners of Dukat's mouth and down his neck. It pooled in the hollow beneath his Adam's. Dukat tipped his head back displaying his long, beautiful, neck for Damar, and Damar followed the glistening trails along the smooth skin, licking and sucking, until he came to the little dip and the pooled liquid awaiting him. Damar slid his tongue into the indent. Dukat's collarbones were prominent on either side of the little dip. Damar could feel his tongue press in between the ends of the bones, just above the sternum. He made his way back up again, pausing to lick Dukat's Adam's apple and up his throat. Damar could feel the ridges of his windpipe beneath his tongue. Damar nibbled and sucked at a spot just beneath Dukat's chin. Dukat's chest was rising and falling against his. He was gasping at Damar's delicious attention to his neck. Damar liked the sounds and loved the way Dukat allowed him access to a part of him that was so vulnerable, and such a thing of Cardassian beauty. 

Damar's teeth grazed one of Dukat's neck ridges and Dukat gave a groan of pleasure and wrapped his fingers in strands of Damar's hair. Dukat pried the kanar bottle away from Damar's hand and Dukat tipped a liberal amount of it onto himself, over his neck, and down his chest.

“Now look at you,” Damar rumbled, “you've made a mess.”

“How clumsy of me,” Dukat said, pushing Damar's head back down.

Damar's mouth and tongue went back to work on Dukat's throat, down to that lovely dip again, and then he slid his tongue along each collar bone in turn. There was still kanar pooled in Dukat's chula, dripping over his lean pectorals, and down the center of his chest towards his belly. Damar licked and lapped greedily at the cool skin and the trails of kanar. Dukat pushed his head further down.

Damar reached blindly for the bottle while he swirled his tongue around Dukat's darkened chuva. He poured more of the liquid over Dukat—now his hip ridges, and chuva. The liquid trailed down along the creases where Dukat's legs bent at the hips. Another tip of the bottle and it gushed down over the closed and delicately scaled lips of Dukat's genital slit. Damar rubbed his nose against Dukat's chuva. The strong alcoholic scent of the kanar burned his nose and throat. Damar moaned with pleasure and Dukat's fingers gripped his hair more tightly. His claws raked Damars scalp. 

“Fuck,” Damar breathed as he licked down towards Dukat's genital slit. His tongue glided over the kanar-wet lips there, “mmmm,” Damar hummed.

He lapped at the slit until the wet, pink, head of Dukat's prUt appeared. Damar licked at the sticky treat. He sucked the bud into his mouth and continued to pleasure it until Dukat's prUt was fully everted and hard. Damar took his mouth off of it and slid his hand along the slender shaft. It curved a bit at the tip, inwards, towards Dukat's belly. 

Damar pumped Dukat's prUt a couple times and brushed his curvy lips against the head. 

“Come up here, Damar,” Dukat said, trailing his claws along Damar's jawline.

“And what if I don't want to?” Damar said, “I thought you were going to let me be in charage tonight.”

Dukat swiped his claws sharply across Damar's cheek. The skin was darkened with scratches that were only deep enough to draw a few dots of dark blood near the edges.

“Up,” Dukat repeated.

Damar did as he was asked. Dukat turned and changed his position on the couch. Instead of sitting with his legs spread he was up on his knees now, his hands gripping the back of the sofa, his armored back and smooth, lean, bottom facing Damar. Damar found the bottle of kanar wedged between two of the sofa cushions and he poured the last bit of it out at the base of Dukat's neck. It ran down his spine and Damar follwed the trail with his mouth yet again. Dukat groaned with pleasure as Damar's mouth moved over his scales. When Damar reached the base of Dukat's spine he didn't stop there. He pushed his tongue right between Dukat's cheeks, but then he did pause.

“What's this?” Damar chuckled. He withdrew a small, tapered, glass object from Dukat's bottom.

“Mmm,” Dukat hummed, “well, I was planning to call you to my quarters tomorrow night. Just a bit of preparation for what I had in mind.”

Damar wrapped his lips around the green glass and gave it a good suck and lick. When it was dripping with his spit he worked it back into Dukat's ass.

“Ohhh,” Dukat sighed.

“It's a bit tight,” Damar teased him, giving the plug a wiggle.

“Damar!” Dukat cried out.

Damar removed the plug again and had a good time sucking and spitting on it before pressing it back in. He repeated the ritual a few more times until Dukat was pressing back against the plug and wanting more. Damar dropped the plug onto the rug and teased Dukat's hole with his mouth and tongue instead. Dukat's expressions of pleasure grew louder, more rumbly. A deep and steady purr began to issue from his chest. 

Once Dukat was good and ready Damar stood up and pressed his slick prUt to one of Dukat's asscheeks. He grunted and rubbed up against.

“Damn,” Damar groaned, as he humped up against Dukat's pert bottom.

“Yes, yesss,” Dukat hissed, “ohhh Damar, your prUt feels wonderful. Put it inside of me. I'm a fair man, after all—I'll let you fuck me.”

“Will you?” Damar asked, continuing to grind his prUt up against the soft flesh, “maybe I'll just keep rutting against you until I come all over your ass.”

“Damar,” Dukat scolded. “You wouldn't deny yourself the pleasure of having me! I don't allow myself to be had this way by many. You should recognize when you're privileged. Now... fuck me before I throw you out.”

“When I'm ready,” Damar challenged. He reached around for Dukat's prUt and slid his hand along the dripping shaft. He was feeling bold.

Damar could hear Dukat grind his teeth in aggitation.

“What is the point of this, Damar?” Dukat's voice became sharper, and more urgent, “you don't expect I'll beg for you!”

Damar pressed his belly and chest to Dukat's back and he leaned in so his mouth nearly brushed Dukat's ear.

“You already have,” Damar hissed.

Dukat gave a cry of irritation and bucked back against Damar as if to throw him off, but Damar had a more sturdy build, and was stronger, so he leaned into Dukat to keep him trapped between himself and the sofa. Damar was certain Dukat would find every way to make his life hell for the next few weeks after this. But for now Damar was enjoying himself too much to give up the game.

He nipped at Dukat's swollen neck ridge and the sound Dukat made was so good that Damar could barely contain himself.

“Alright...” Dukat finally hissed, “what do you want, Damar?”

“Lay down and let me fuck you on your back like one of your disgusting Bajoran whores,” Damar said.

Dukat shivered against him.

Damar expected some form of protest.

But after a moment Dukat settled himself onto the sofa on his back and spread his legs. He was glaring up at Damar, though.

“I would never allow anyone else to this opportunity, Damar, so you had better make it good,” Dukat scowled at him as he tipped his head back against the arm rest of the sofa. “And remember, Damar—I am allowing this. I am still the one who is in control of this situation. I'm simply allowing you to entertain the illusion of your little fantasy.”

Damar settled himself between Dukat's legs.

He considered telling Dukat to 'shut up, unless you're screaming my name', but Damar thought that would probably earn him another swipe on the face. Still, he considered it a moment longer anyway. He kept the comment to himself and instead he worked his thick prUt into Dukat's ass until was fully buried.

Damar fucked Dukat hard while Dukat's claws gripped his strong shoulders and bit into the spaces between his scales. They purred, and growled, and hissed together like rutting reptiles. Finally they both shuddered together and Dukat's come sprayed warmly onto Damar's belly. Damar sat back and drew his fingers through the sticky mess. He brought his coated fingers to his lips and sucked on them. Dukat regarded him from half-closed eyes beneath his heavy brow ridges.

“If you ever come to my quarters with this attitude again, Damar,” Dukat said, his voice thick with pleasure, and sounding a bit sleepy, “I'll--”

“You'll let me fuck you again?” Damar tested. He spread his fingers then slid his tongue between two of them to catch a strand of come.

Dukat heaved a sigh through his nose.  


“I'll tie you up and paddle you until you can't walk,” Dukat said.

“Hm,” Damar said, “I'll try to keep my attitude in check, then.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Dukat replied.


	5. Alpha: Barkan Lokar/Elim Garak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First time messing around, sneaky Cardassian sneakiness, oral, humiliation, Walk of Shame.

Darkness rolled in over the campus of Bamarren, and Elim Garak slipped out of his dorm. He was as silent and watchful as the moon that hung against the velvet backdrop of sky. He was headed to the garden to meet Palandine and as he approached his heart thudded harder, and harder, beneath his chula. He should have found it suspicious that she had left him a note rather than asking to meet him directly. But Garak was not thinking about that—he was just eager to meet her.

In the note she had hinted at things that had drifted in and out of Garak's daydreams: touching lips, and maybe more. Garak had hardly been able to sit through dinner as his over-active imagination had conjured up many scenarios for 'something more'. He hadn't been able to finish his meal and had been flushed blue and embarrassed by the time he was allowed to excuse himself from the mess hall. He was also nervous and as he ducked behind a bush in the garden he took a moment to take several deep breaths. What he had managed to eat for dinner felt like it might want to come up again and that was all he needed—for Palandine to tip her beautiful head towards his for a kiss, and for him to throw up all over her uniform. 

_Vomit and moss green_ , Garak thought, _is not a pleasant color combination at all._

He swallowed thickly and tried to focus on his breathing.

_Just be calm, Elim. Stop shaking. Breathe. Don't let your voice get squeaky when you speak. Don't hunch your shoulders. Don't be awkward!_

A few more moments and Garak crept out of his hiding place.

He parted his lips slightly to scent the air but he didn't smell the distinct and wonderful flavor that was Palandine. Garak straightened his tunic a bit. He wondered how he looked—probably ridiculous. He had grown taller, and his body had become lean and strong, but he had yet to really come to terms with the changes brought on by maturity and the demanding physical conditioning at Bamarren. Garak felt as awkward as he had ever been and in his mind he was still a short, heavy, and slow child who was crowned with the unfortunate nickname 'sleg'. While his body had changed that boy was still lingering in Garak's face; soft, round, and gentle. He thought it was a strange age to be where he was considered an adult and yet still felt like a child; where he was attracted to nearly everyone he laid eyes on, but too shy to do anything about it.

Except that tonight he had braved his nerves and he had come to meet Palandine.

Garak sipped the air again. He closed his eyes and let the smells wash over his senses. He could pick out nearly every plant in the garden and the night air smelled fresh, clean, and crisp. The earth smelled fertile and rich here and for a moment Garak missed a simple moment from his childhood; crouching down beside Tolan and wiggling his blunt little fingers into the earth while Tolan pressed seeds into the ground. 

“Elim.”

Garak's eyes opened suddenly. He took a step back and almost toppled back into the bush behind him.

The gruff voice was familiar enough even wrapped around just one word and the owner of it began to laugh.

“You really fell for it,” Barkan said, “I didn't think you would. I thought you were an intelligent boy... but I see I have misjudged you. Palandine would never risk putting such things down in writing.”

“B-Barkan,” Garak stuttered. He was surprised at how the older boy had just come up on him without a sound, without a scent. It was as though Barkan had materialized out of the shadows where he stood, tall, handsome, gruff-voiced, and arrogant. Garak swallowed hard as Barkan stepped into his personal space, squared his shoulders, and stretched his neck. “What... what?”

Garak felt ridiculous and what was more confusing than Barkan being there instead of Palandine was the fact that Garak was both angry with Barkan for having fooled him, but his blood was pumping too, and making his neck ridges, and chuen, burn and swell. 

A strong hand curled around one of Garak's wrists.

“Did you really think she would kiss you?” Barkan said, looming, and making Garak shrink back against the shrub.

Garak's mouth moved but no words came out.

Suddenly Barkan's other hand was wedged forcefully between Garak's legs cupping him there. Garak made an embarrassing little noise of surprise and to his further humiliation his legs began to tremble. Barkan grinned at him in the darkness, his toothy smile both predatory, and undeniably handsome in the moonlight. 

“Your trousers are damp, and is that...” Barkan pressed a little harder and Garak made that sound again. “The tip of your prUt trying to come out and play, hmm?”

“What do you—what do you want, Barkan,” Garak managed in a rather pathetic sounding voice. He tried again and managed to get a little more force behind his words, “what do you want?”

“Were you wet and horny thinking of the things you and Palandine would do? Or...” Barkan leaned in very close to Garak, and bent his head. His lips were nearly brushing the ridges near Garak's ear. Garak could feel his breath tickle loose strands of his hair. The sensation seemed to tingle all the way down his neck ridges and into his groin. “Because I've got you.”

Garak tried to back further away but he was pinned between Barkan and the bush. It was a terrible, idiotic, mistake. Had he been paying more attention to his surroundings and not allowed his head to become clouded with fantasies then Garak never would have allowed this to happen.

But Barkan's gruff, commanding, voice was ringing in his ears and Garak's tunic felt tight around his neck ridges, and his pants felt tight too, and he couldn't help but wonder what would happen to him if he stopped trying to get away and instead pressed himself up against Barkan. Garak's face was growing hot and Barkan was watching him so closely. Garak nearly jumped out of his scales when Barkan's tongue flicked against his ear. A moan was bubbling up in Garak's throat and he snapped his teeth hard around the sound to try and keep it trapped but it came out anyway. 

Barkan made a clicking sound next to his ear.

“Snapping your teeth at me—what a little slut,” the older boy laughed.  


_That's not what I meant!_ Garak shouted at himself internally. Leave it to him to make an obscene sexual gesture while trying to keep himself from making an obscene sexual noise. 

“Or... maybe you're not,” Barkan said, pulling back a bit to pin Garak with his gaze. He had let go of Garak's wrist but his other hand was still cupped at Garak's groin which was growing wetter, and wetter, by the moment. “You're trembling, and seem... so very out of your element. It's beautiful, really. I don't think you need to tell me at all, my instincts are strong, but I'd like to hear it anyway—you've never messed around at all, have you?”

Garak found himself shaking his head even though he wasn't sure that he wanted to reply to that question at all.

“I said I want to hear it,” Barkan repeated, his voice growing even huskier than it normally was. Something about that made Garak want him even more and without thinking he lifted his hands to rest on Barkan's strong shoulders.

“No I... I haven't,” Garak found his voice but it was dreadfully unsteady.

“But you want to,” Barkan said.

Garak bobbed his head in a subtle nod.

“Stop gesturing—I want to hear you say it, or you're not going to have any fun tonight at all,” Barkan pressed Garak more firmly against the thick shrubbery.

“Ah... yes, I want to,” Garak gripped Barkan's shoulder ridges more firmly. His eyes widened slightly when Barkan growled in response. “Ohhh...” 

“You're no threat to me, Elim Garak,” Barkan said, “just look at you—you haven't even tried to push me away. No posturing. No challenge for dominance. I bet you'd love to get down on your knees in the dirt and suck my fat prUt, wouldn't you?”

Garak thought his head was going to spin right off as Barkan's words struck him and made him feel all sorts of ways that he couldn't even begin to explain. He had no idea if he would be any good at sucking a prUt at all and in fact was more inclined to believe he would be terrible at it. But he was burning and aching to do it anyway. The idea of Barkan standing over him and directing him was so appealing that Garak sank down to his knees without prompting. Barkan actually laughed at him.

“You've got the right idea,” Barkan said, “but I want you naked first. Get up. Strip.”

Garak rose to his feet again and began a clumsy job of ridding himself of his clothing. His uniform was quickly on the ground but when he bent to take his boots of Barkan stopped him.

“Leave them,” Barkan said, as his eyes roamed over Garak's unclothed body. “I've seen better—and that,” Barkan made a hand gesture towards Garak's prUt, “I don't know what you'd call that,” Barkan jeered. 

Garak felt the urge to hold his hands in front of his prUt to cover it, or to hide behind the bush, and stop things now—and yet he didn't move. He looked down at his prUt. It wasn't really fair what Barkan was saying. It was only half out, after all, and judging by the sizes of the other boys in Garak's unit, he would have thought that he was a bit above average. Garak glanced towards Barkan's groin. How large was he?

“You can get on your knees now,” Barkan said, pointing to the ground.

Garak lowered himself obediently. His knees sank into the soft garden soil a bit and he found that he was glad for the cushion. But now that he was eye-level with Barkan's groin he was feeling quite a bit more intimidated. He was surprised when Barkan's fingers slid into his hair and shoved his head back so his chin was tilted up. Barkan's other hand began to fiddle with the fastening on his pants and Garak opened his mouth a little in anticipation.

How would he actually do this? Would his teeth hurt? Would his tongue get in the way? How was it going to taste and feel... oh, there were so many things going through Garak's mind but then all of them seemed not to matter at all when Barkan's prUt was out and glistening in the darkness. Garak's features were all round with wonder as he stared at the prUt. Of course he'd seen other prUts before—Garak had sometimes watched from his secret hiding place in his dorm, with Mila the regnar on his shoulder, while the other boys in his group dared break their curfew by sitting up late and comparing their prUts, or touching them, or even more. Garak had jerked his own prUt several times while he had spied them doing these things but he had never gotten up the courage to participate. 

Barkan was different—he was demanding and that was the sort of prompting, it seemed, that Garak had needed to have his first try.

“You'll have to open that pretty little mouth of yours more than that, slut,” Barkan said, “I've got a nice big prUt to feed you. See...”

Barkan gripped his prUt at the base where it jutted proudly from between the scaled lips of his genital slit. He rubbed his heavy prUt slick with lubricating secretions against Garak's cheek.

“Ohhh,” Garak breathed, his eyelids fluttering.

“Open up,” Barkan said, pressing the head of his prUt to Garak's lips.

It was sticky and hard and Garak immediately wanted more of it. His own prUt pushed out fully at the feel of Barkan's prodding his mouth. He shifted his hips and opened his mouth as wide as he could. Barkan didn't seem willing to give him any sort of time to adjust to this new thing. Instead he just shoved his prUt into Garak's mouth and throat as far as it would go which caused Garak to choke and gag immediately. 

“Nasty,” Barkan said, in a demeaning tone, “look how disgusting you are, Elim.”

Barkan continued until Garak was dripping with spit and foam, his nose bubbling. Garak gasped and panted for breath as he watched Barkan stroke his prUt.

“Keep your mouth open, I didn't say you could clossse it,” Barkan hissed. Garak did as he was asked and Barkan began to rumble. Garak knew what that purring noise meant—it always began for him when he was fully aroused but judging by the way Barkan's prUt was throbbing in his fist, the purring didn't start as early as that for everyone. Garak was certain Barkan was going to come all over his face and Garak was shocked and beside himself with arousal at how badly he wanted that. His own purring had started now.  


“Yesss, yesss,” Garak hissed. He planted his palms into the dirt, spread his legs more widely, kept his face tilted up for Barkan and watched mesmerized as Barkan stroked. “Come on me please, please, come on me Barkan--”

Barkan's purring built into a most intimidating growl and then his hot come sprayed forcefully over Garak's face, into his open mouth, and dripped down his chin. Garak couldn't help himself now; he took his own prUt in hand and pumped it furiously. Barkan shoved him back against the bush. _He wants to watch me come_ , Garak thought, _oh fuck._

Barkan wanted more than to just watch, it seemed. Garak cried out as Barkan slapped his hand away from his own prUt and gripped it instead. It only took a couple pumps from Barkan's rough hand before Garak was jerking and writhing against the shrubbery and coming all over himself and Barkan's hand.

Garak slid down onto the ground. He felt like every bone had been yanked from his body and he wasn't sure he would ever be able to stand again. His personal play and fantasies had always felt good, but never as powerful as the waves of pleasure that were still rocking him now. He flicked his tongue out to lick at his messy lips. He could still feel Barkan's come dripping heavily from his face and ridges, and then Barkan brought his hand near to Garak's face, slick and messy with Garak's own come, and he flicked that onto Garak's face too.

“Fucking gross,” Barkan stepped back and kicked the bottom of one of Garak's booted feet.

Before Garak could realize what was happening, Barkan had gathered Garak's clothing, and disappeared into the darkness.

Garak sat up and was in a sudden panic.

“Barkan!” Garak shouted into the darkness. He jumped to his feet and looked frantically around the garden, his heart pounding, and shame creeping into every scale on his body and making them shiver as he knew exactly what he was going to have to do.

Garak sighed.

He wiped his face on the back of his hand which did little to clean him up at all. 

He began the slow trudge back to his dormitory.


	6. How Odd - Weyoun/Damar/Dukat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The kanar is laced, Weyoun is a creep, Dukat is also a bit of a creep. Dubcon.

Weyoun pressed the door chime to Damar’s quarters and hoped that the other man would answer. If not Weyoun could let himself in, but he preferred to start things off tonight on the right foot. That was why he was cradling a bottle of kanar in the crook of one arm. It was one of the finest vintages that Quark had tucked behind his bar and Weyoun had given quite a bit for it. But money really meant nothing to him, and the bottle in his arm was certainly worth that much for the exploration he predicted it might allow him to do. Well, not the kanar on its own. It was quite possible that it had been tampered with. The corners of Weyoun’s lips twitched in anticipation. His eyes glittered like a pair of polished violet saucers.

Damar came to his door wearing only his uniform pants and boots. His hair was a mess and he was squinting a bit from beneath the hoods of his decorative brow bones out into the brighter light of the corridor. Weyoun sniffed. These days there was always a faint smell of kanar lingering around Damar. He could smell it now, but nothing stronger as though he’d had a fair amount of it recently—he wasn’t drunk. At least not yet.

“I was napping,” Damar explained, his voice low and gravelly with sleep. He smacked his lips once.

“Don’t you sleep at night, Damar?” Weyoun asked, tilting his head a bit, and feigning concern.

“Mm,” Damar grunted, “when I can. But I doubt you’ve dropped by just to check up on my sleeping habits. What do you want?”

“No need to be rude, Damar. You’re always so short with me—you really should try to be a bit more diplomatic. I assure you I haven’t interrupted your nap for a frivolous purpose. In fact I’m quite sure you’ll approve. I… might I come in, Damar?”

Weyoun watched Damar glance to the bottle. Good, he had noticed it.

“Alright but… just for a moment,” Damar backed away and Weyoun strode in and the door whooshed closed quietly behind him.

Weyoun surveyed Damar’s quarters briefly. It wasn’t the first time he—or one of his previous clones—had been inside but he always made a point of taking in his surroundings anyway. Damar’s quarters were untidy, hot, and low-lit.

“I admit that I don’t know much about Cardassians, but I really don’t see how you can find it pleasurable to live in a dark cave like an unhappy animal hoarding scraps of rubbish,” Weyoun said. Never mind that one of his predecessors had been a hoarder himself,.“But then again, as a Vorta I do lack a sense of aesthetics. Perhaps this trash heap _is_ pleasing to you.”

Weyoun was satisfied at the irritated twist of Damar’s lips—oh, but they were pretty lips. Weyoun didn’t know how he knew this, but he did. For some reason or another they were a joy to look at when they smirked, and frowned, and formed biting words to spit out at him.

“If you’ve come here simply to insult my living space, then I not only find your visit frivolous, but rude and unwanted. You could have considered calling me over the comm before just showing up at my doorstep.”

“You don’t answer your comm half the time,” Weyoun said.

“I do. It just depends upon whose calling for me,” Damar tilted his chin up at Weyoun arrogantly.

Oh, he was doing that predictable Cardassian posturing—squaring the shoulders, puffing the chest, flaring the neck ridges. Similar to the unexplainable draw of Damar’s lips, this posturing was another thing that Weyoun found fascinating, and somehow beautiful—yet ridiculous really. Such a display didn’t really make one stronger and if anyone knew all about putting on appearances and how to see right through them, it was Weyoun. He felt the need to roll his eyes but he refrained. That would hurt Damar’s pride and while that was a pastime that Weyoun certainly did enjoy indulging in, it wasn’t the thing to do just now.

“Now, Damar,” Weyoun crooned, “calm down. There’s no need for… all of this,” Weyoun lifted one hand and rested it on Damar’s bare shoulder.

Weyoun did indeed know more about Cardassians than he let on. After all as a diplomat it was his responsibility to know how to work people to his advantage and if he had no idea at all about said peoples’ culture, then his job would be quite a bit more difficult, and he would have been a failure at it long before now. He knew exactly what he was doing—how bold of a move it was to touch Damar there where his thick neck ridge swooped down and sloped more gently to fade away into the soft skin that stretched over his shoulder. Weyoun felt the muscle twitch beneath his palm.

Damar stared at him and said nothing. His eyes were perhaps more intense than Weyoun had ever seen them before, and given how heated their bickering sometimes became, that was saying a lot. Weyoun swallowed once before speaking again.

“I’ve brought you a little gift,” he said, removing his hand from Damar’s shoulder now, and using it to pluck the bottle out of the crook of his opposite arm. “There, you see? It’s… as close as I can come to making an apology for our ah… latest… disagreement.”

Weyoun gave a slight bow of his head not only to further indicate his apology (an apology that was nothing more than a ploy for his own personal gain) and also to make himself smaller. This, he knew, would play to Damar’s ego as well.

Cardassians had no doubt evolved from predators given their general dispositions, their build, the way they moved. This was something Weyoun really hadn’t uncovered specifically in his research into Cardassian culture. Given how secretive they were it had been difficult to find anything at all to go on. But Weyoun was ferociously clever so he had been able to uncover enough to give him what he thought of as an advantage. But as someone who had been created from a species that had once been a prey animal he could just sense the predator. Some of his senses may have been dulled down but this one remained intact.

Weyoun was thankful to the Founders for allowing his people to remain in possession of that sense. It didn’t make him feel helpless, or weak, like a cornered animal about to be grasped in the jaws of a powerful hunter. No, it made him feel more alert, more aware, and better able to judge how far he could push and when it was time for him to back down. A prey animal did not need to be weak, after all. Many of them were cunning, daring, tricksters.

A slow smile spread across Weyoun’s face but his head was still tipped so that Damar could not see it: the pleased smirk and the reason for it were Weyoun’s little secrets.

Damar reached for the bottle but Weyoun drew it back.

“Just a minute,” he said, straightening up again, “I was thinking that we could… share this together. After all, Damar, you and I need not be enemies. We’re on the same side,” he gripped Damar’s bicep firmly, “I think it would be good for us to work a bit harder at setting aside our differences. Who knows, Damar… perhaps we could even become dear friends some day.”

Damar snorted.

“That would be the day,” he said. But he paused after that and seemed to be thinking harder about what to say next.

Weyoun thought that he was seeing Damar in a rare state now. The man was good at shooting his mouth off and letting whatever sass that came to his mind out without much regard for tact at all. Weyoun found it amusing on the rare occasions that he had noticed Damar deep in thought. Damar was no more than a pawn, after all. He was under the thumb of both the Dominion, and Dukat.

Weyoun recalled that one of his clones had thought it good to keep an eye on Damar even still—not to under estimate him—but that clone was dead and this Weyoun was certain that he, along with the help of Damar’s favorite drink, had things with this one under control. Damar wouldn’t be any trouble for them so long as he remained plied with kanar. It was strange, really, Weyoun thought. Why would anyone want to dull their wits willingly? As far as Weyoun could figure out that was what the kanar did—to Cardassians at least—it did absolutely nothing to him.

Weyoun swayed almost imperceptibly as he stood in front of Damar.

“I'll get the glasses,” Damar said, and he turned his back on Weyoun and picked his way through the debris littering his floor towards a small cabinet under an oval wall mirror. Weyoun followed him carefully stepping. Damar sat the two glasses on top of the cabinet with a 'click' and Weyoun opened the bottle of kanar and poured making sure to give Damar an especially generous amount. Damar didn't complain about that; of course he wouldn't. The Cardassian lifted his glass and so did Weyoun.

“To friends,” Damar said, with obvious sarcasm behind the tight smile he forced onto his lips, and then he drank. Weyoun lifted his glass for the toast as well and sipped.

The kanar had no taste to him but it was wet and thick and it gave a curious warming sensation as it slid down his throat. The warmth seemed to sit in a little ball deep within him and then after a moment it began to bloom subtly outwards down through his lower abdomen, up through his chest, down his arms to the tips of his fingers, and into his cheeks. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation. He wondered if Damar felt the kanar like that too, or if it was different for him. No doubt a Cardassian would enjoy a drink that could make him feel warm. Weyoun could think of other ways to make him warm too, and that was really what was on his mind. But he knew that he would need Damar to be more pliable if his plan had even the barest chance of success.

“Why don't we sit down?” Weyoun said, and he strode towards Damar's bed.

“Not there,” Damar barked.

Weyoun paused in a half-crouch. He'd been on his way towards sitting down, his drink in one hand. He straightened himself back up again.

“There,” Damar said, motioning towards the sofa at the opposite end of the room.

Weyoun made his way there and sat down primly on the end of the couch. It was a utilitarian object with sharp lines. The style of it brought to mind such words as 'harsh' and 'sparse' which was the sense that Weyoun seemed to get from a lot of Cardassian architecture. But what would he know? No doubt Damar, Dukat, and most other Cardassians found their style of things to be beautiful.

In a way it troubled Weyoun that he harbored this odd attraction to Damar. To have an attraction to him must mean that he had _some_ sense of aesthetics. But maybe it was limited to this one thing—gray things covered in scales and bad attitudes. It was ridiculous. Maybe it was merely curiosity. Telling himself it was that instead made him feel better, a bit less nervous.

“Bring the bottle, Damar,” he called without turning to see if the other man was going to come and sit down too. Weyoun could feel Damar moving towards him after a moment. Most Vorta had at least some bare telepathic abilities. Weyoun was quite good at being able to sense things. It was helpful to have an extra sense when one's sight was weak, and one's sense of taste was non-existent.

Damar did approach him and he rounded the couch so he was standing in front of Weyoun with the bottle clutched in one hand, and the glass in his other. Weyoun briefly admired the way Damar's big hand wrapped around the twisting spiral of the kanar bottle. Those were hands with strength in them. Weyoun's hands were small, pale, delicate looking things. He thought that would look quite nice against Damar's skin, teasing his scales, warming his skin.

“Why are you doing that?” Damar asked from above him.

“Doing what, Damar?”

“That... swaying. It's strange.”

“A nervous habit,” Weyoun lied, “my apologies.”

He almost asked Damar to sit down but he recognized the man's preference to stand as another form of posturing. If Damar was standing while Weyoun was sitting this was another minor display of dominance. It lowered Weyoun to him in a physical sense. Weyoun would allow it so long as Damar poured himself another glass of kanar, and he already was. Weyoun watched with glee dancing behind his placid smile and sparking in his enormous violet eyes. The lip of the bottle clinked minutely to the rim of the glass and Weyoun watched the glass refill with the thick nectar that would be Damar's greatest downfall.

Weyoun continued their conversation, pressing at Damar, and withdrawing words that were thorns and barbs. Weyoun amused himself with it, and Damar continued to drink. He was growing more aggressive with his speech and outlining a way in which he would love to _kill_ Weyoun who sat on the couch and laughed merrily as though his companion was a comedian. Weyoun laughed, and laughed, until there were tears streaking his face and his ribs ached. Damar had gone silent then and Weyoun peered at him as he sniffled, grinning so hard that it made the joint of his jaw prickle.

“Oh, Damar—such excellent foreplay. I haven't been disappointed this evening at all. At least.. not yet.”

Damar sat down suddenly, heavily, on the low coffee table in front of the sofa. Weyoun noted the glassy glaze that had crept over Damar's eyes, the way he held his glass tilted, as though his grip was slack, the way his lower lip was shiny with spit. Damar wasn't drunk, it would have taken more kanar to do that, but the effects of the drug that Weyoun had slipped in were most certainly working now. He had never seen Damar so placid! Weyoun merely wanted to loosen him up, to relax him in a way that Damar never seemed to be, to fish out things Damar most certainly repressed.

Weyoun had been careful, meticulous, in selecting his aid. His game would be no fun if Damar could not consent. Getting Damar to agree was part of the win. Weyoun leaned forward and took Damar's chin in his hand. He gazed into those beautiful, serene blue eyes. It was almost a shame not see that combative spark that came to life like fire when the two of them bit each other with their bickering. But there was something beautiful about this too. Weyoun was studying Damar's face up close now taking in the shape of each ridge and scale, the way Damar's coloring had gone blotchy, the way the teardrop shape in the middle of his forehead was tinted a light blue-gray, the way the strands of his hair appeared to be not hair at all—but very fine feathers.

“Absolutely breathtaking--” Weyoun exhaled, finding a new appreciation for the man.

Weyoun would not have admitted it had Damar not been in an altered state but the attraction was not just one sided. Weyoun found the stubborn Cardassian quite attractive although he really didn't understand what 'attractive' even meant. It was something he couldn't put into words or quantify: it was just there without reason or explanation. Weyoun moved even closer, his lips hovering near Damar's plump ones, their noses almost touching. He was considering pressing their lips together but the sound of liquid splashing against fabric interrupted his concentration. The glass in Damar's hand had tipped and the thick kanar had spilled onto the thigh of Damar's pants.

Weyoun took the now empty glass from Damar and placed it aside and then he was surprised by Damar grabbed the front of his shirt and pulling him back in, spreading his legs wide to accommodate Weyoun, and smashing their lips into a clumsy wet kiss. There was more teeth involved that Weyoun had expected. Damar's were sharp and they closed over his lower lip and clashed with his own as Damar growled into his mouth. It took Weyoun a moment to figure out how to breath through his nose while Damar ravished his mouth, rather than to suffocate. Just as he'd gotten a few breaths though Damar shoved his tongue in and made his breathing even more hopeless. A dizzying feeling swam to Weyoun's head and whether it was pleasure from the kiss or due to a lack of oxygen, he wasn't sure. What he did know was that he had intended to be the dominant one this evening and he still had that intention.

He pressed his palms to Damar's bare chest and used the leverage to shove himself back and break the kiss. He regarded Damar as he took a moment to catch his breath. There was still a low growl coming from deep within him with each breath—more of a purr really. It didn't sound threatening in the least and Damar wasn't snarling at him, wasn't even saying a word, was just staring at him with those glazed eyes and waiting. Damar smacked his lips a couple of times as though he was tasting the flavor of Weyoun lingering there. Weyoun expected the sneer to come now but it didn't.

“Mfay feel...” Damar muttered, lifting his hand and pressing his fingers to the subtle indent beneath his cheekbone. “Fuhhy.”

_My face feels funny._

Damar laughed once, and the sound was so startling that Weyoun took a step back from him. He didn't think he had ever heard Damar laugh in a way that wasn't mean—directed at Weyoun's own expense. Then just as suddenly as the single laugh had come out of him, Damar's shoulders began to shudder, and he began to cry—wet, sniffling, muttering words that Weyoun couldn't understand.

“Damar, you poor thing,” Weyoun said, in a tone of mock-sympathy. But he did come back and he sat down on one of Damar's sturdy thighs and took his face in both hands. “I will not have you crying. While I would normally be quite amused to see you reduced to something so pathetic... at my hand nonetheless... I wouldn't appreciate you doing it while I fuck you.”

But no sooner had the words come out of his mouth than his lips twitched into smile—or _would_ he? It could be pleasant, he supposed. His sadistic streak was showing now.

“I could give you something to cry about, couldn't I?” Weyoun bit Damar's lip suddenly, giving the other man a mark to match his own. Damar cried out—it sounded like a sound of shock rather than pain. It had done the trick to stop his crying though.

But in another way it had backfired—before Weyoun could comprehend what was happening to him Damar had thrown him to the floor, on his back, and was pinning his hands above his head and grinding against his belly with such a force that it was knocking Weyoun's breath from him with each thrust.

“Da-mar!” Weyoun managed to get out, “stop this ah-hat one—nce!”

This was not going to plan at all. The drug was supposed to subdue Damar. But Weyoun supposed he didn't know anything about Cardassian hormones and it was quite possible and now that he thought about it probable—that being aroused—especially when that arousal had been building and pent up for quite some time—would make the Cardassian male aggressive.

“If you s-top I'm sure we c-can find a more pleasurable r-eh-lease for you rather than ruh-hutting against my—ow!” If Damar didn't stop ramming him in the gut Weyoun was worried about coughing up his kanar.

But the rutting beast went still and just loomed above him, panting. Weyoun closed his eyes to catch his breath once again and then he noticed a thick, musky, scent. It must have been something that Cardassians gave off when aroused. It certainly wasn't unpleasant at all.

“Good, that's good, Damar,” Weyoun said lowly. He reached up and slid his hand over Damar's strong pectoral muscles, down his belly—so soft and vulnerable, and scaleless, and down to the waistband of his pants and then lower.

He was disappointed that Damar was already fully aroused, though an unexpected surge of pleasure coursed through him upon the discover of just how large that bulge was. For a moment or two that was the only thing Weyoun could think about, the pure size of it, trapped in those pants. Then it occurred to him the fabric was wet—quite wet. He knew from experience with Dukat that the Cardassian male genitalia was self-lubricating. But Damar was absolutely soaked. It finally clicked in Weyoun's mind that Damar had come in his pants while rutting against him and there was something delicious and humiliating (on Damar's part) about that.

“You really were excited,” Weyoun hummed, “you'll forgive me if I'm quite surprised—Dukat can last for hours.”

That was an exaggeration but Dukat certainly could keep himself under control and drag out their sex for so long that it at least _felt_ as though it lasted for hours. Weyoun swallowed down the noise that wanted to escape him. He was aroused by Damar's messy prUt in his hand, aroused at the humiliation coloring Damar's cheeks, aroused at the thought of Dukat, too.

“M'gonnuh fuhuh you,” Damar slurred.

“Are you sure? You're already finished,” Weyoun sneered, “and that's not what I had in mind anyway. _I'm_ going to fuck _you.”_

Damar snorted at that.

“Can't fuhuh me you... are huh nasty Fortuh.”

“Oh, I am a _very_ nasty Vorta,” Weyoun grinned beneath Damar, “now, get off of me you dense brute, and show me the mess you've made of yourself. I want to see it. Now.”

Weyoun wasn't certain if his tactic would work. After all Damar was combative, and they butted up against each other daily—the man was anything but submissive. Damar gave another great huff-snort but he let go of Weyoun's wrists and sat down with his back against the coffee table. His eyes were heavily-lidded and he was moving slowly now. Weyoun considered that the drug didn't seem to be consistent. It was working but it seemed like Damar could break through the effects a bit when sufficiently aroused. He certainly hadn't been sluggish when he'd knocked Weyoun onto his back and humped him into the floor.

Weyoun picked himself up and crawled towards Damar. He tapped one of his thighs urging Damar to spread them, which he did, and Weyoun unfasted Damar's pants and let them fall open. Damar was a mess. Weyoun dipped his fingers into Damar's come and held his fingers in front of Damar's face where the glistened.

“Clean yourself up, Damar,” Weyoun said.

He pressed his fingertips to Damar's soft lips and Damar refused at first—clenching his jaw.

Weyoun dropped his other hand to Damar's prUt. It had gone almost completely back into his ajan but a little bit was still peaking out and Weyoun guessed that it would still be quite sensitive directly after his orgasm. Weyoun teased his fingers over the wet pink nub. Damar's hips jerked and he spread his arms back against the table to brace himself.

“If you want me to touch you again, then start sucking,” Weyoun said, prodding Damar's lips again. This time Damar sucked Weyoun's fingertips into his mouth and lapped at them. Once they were licked clean Weyoun gathered more of Damar's come and had him lick and suck again. He flicked his thumb over the head of Damar's prUt to encourage him. His own genitals gave a twinge of satisfaction and arousal at this game. Weyoun continued until he had scraped every last drop from Damar's skin and the fabric of his pants, and forced the other man to eat it.

Damar licked his lips.

“You've probably done that before, haven't you? Do you eat your own come when you get yourself off all alone, Damar? Does it taste good?”

Damar's cheeks were coloring with the beautiful tint of humiliation again.

“Damar?” Weyoun prodded. The man was being far too quiet for his liking. He wanted him compliant, yes, but it wasn't quite as fun if Damar didn't give some lip or at least an answer.

“Yes, it tays good... buhuh why don' you fuhind out for uh'ssseff,” Damar licked his lips again and a brief look of confusion passed over his face, as if he couldn't figure out why his voice sounded strange, but then it was gone. Weyoun was pleased that even drugged Damar could, with some prodding, manage to find that sass that made him such a _delightful_ person.

“I am curious but my sense of taste would render the venture pointless, and I've already discovered the texture of it by using my fingers,” Weyoun said, “now, if you'll be a _good boy_ and go to your bed for me, I think we can continue our exploration further. And... you may as well get rid of those messy pants.”

Damar narrowed his eyes at Weyoun and muttered for Weyoun not to call him that. Weyoun got to his feet and helped Damar to his. The man was thickly built, muscular, and heavier than Weyoun would have imagined. It was a struggle to get him to his feet in his sluggish state, and then to help Damar finish undressing without Damar falling over and dragging Weyoun down with him.

“Leave,” Damar demanded half-heartedly, after he was fully naked, and standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. Weyoun merely shook his head, and pointed to the bed.

To his surprise Damar shambled over and climbed onto it. But he curled up on his side as if he intended to go to sleep. Weyoun noted that Damar was keeping his bleary gaze trained on him, however, so he wondered if something was expected of him. Maybe he should undress too. Should he do it quickly to just get it over with? Slowly, to entice? Damar was a man who liked to get down to action, perhaps he wouldn't appreciate the teasing... which was all the more reason for Weyoun to do it. He grinned slowly at Damar and swayed slightly as he tugged the zipper to his jacket down slowly. He let the fabric drape open to reveal the patterned shirt beneath. In a way he felt ridiculous doing this. He tried to think back to other versions of himself that had been better at seduction—after all it could come in quite handy for a diplomat—Weyoun 4 had been particularly good at it.

Weyoun shrugged out of his jacket and sat it carefully aside. Now which to do next; the undershirt, or pants? But he'd need to get rid of his boots first. He couldn't think of a very sexy way to shed those, though. When he was down to his pants only Damar began to growl at him lowly from the bed.

“What's the matter, Damar?” Weyoun cooed, “do you enjoy what you're seeing?” Weyoun drew a hand over his throat which was brushed with a soft lavender blush, into the little hollow between his collar bones, and down the center of his smooth, pale, chest. He swayed his hips as he moved towards the bed as though his feet were floating on air.

Weyoun climbed onto the bed at Damar's feet. Damar rolled onto his back and spread his legs—a profoundly submissive gesture that Weyoun had certainly not expected. It shouldn't have been so easy. That took some of the fun out of it. Maybe he shouldn't have laced the kanar after all. He glanced down over Damar's body offered freely before him—his wide shoulders and chest, the soft belly, the teardrop shape at his groin and the raise of his flushed hip ridges, the wet slit between his legs and the cheeks of his ass—which Weyoun imagined _spanking._ That sent a little shudder through him that Weyoun could not quite hide.

“After all the arrogant posturing you show to me day in, and day out, all the challenging, and back-talking... I never would have taken you to be so submissive in bed,” Weyoun chuckled. He crawled into the space between Damar's legs and drew a hand over his soft belly which drew a gasp from Damar. “Do you lay down like this for your wife? For Dukat? It's all just a show isn't it... but when all of your guard is finally shattered, this is what is beneath—this is what you really are—surrender, submission, a soft sigh instead of a roar.”

Weyoun leaned forward, growing quite bold now, and pinned Damar's wrists above his head. He gave a gasp too as his groin pressed up against Damar's damp slit and he could feel the wetness through his pants. A little rush of pleasure jolted through him and suddenly he was on his back and staring up at a smirking Damar—who was also drooling due to the drug. Weyoun was shocked at the sudden switch. Once again Damar undulated between too slow to function, and quick enough to have found an opening in which to take advantage of the situation.

“Damar!” Weyoun cried, and thrashed his head to one side, frowning, hoping to avoid being splatted with the thick strand of drool hanging from Damar's lower lip. Damar _laughed_ at him in that rumbling way of his.

“Don' pretehn to _know me_ ,” Damar said. His ropy drool dripped down onto Weyoun's chest. Damar drew a hand over his mouth to try and clean some of it away.

It was Weyoun's wrists that were now pinned over his head. This wasn't how Weyoun wanted it to go and he was growing annoyed. While it was true he hadn't wanted the game to be easy, he was also tired of ending up on _his_ back. He was quite used to serving a superior power, and though it may be some form of blasphemy to want it, Weyoun wanted to be the higher power for once. He was able to often in conversation, in the way he often took an upper hand to his political opponents, at the way he could manipulate, but in this way... the lure of power over the other party seemed different, perhaps greater, than the sort that Weyoun had tasted before. He was created to serve and submit and he wouldn't dare defy his Gods. But in other ways he—at least this version of himself—had more of a desire to assert himself over someone else. Damar had always been a perfect target for this.

Weyoun huffed. He opened his mouth to say something, but Damar let go of one his wrists, and drew a claw along the outer seam of Weyoun's pants, through the waistband, over the hip, down the outer thigh. Then the other side was split and Damar peeled the fabric away. Weyoun sputtered beneath him. He had intended to reveal himself to Damar on his own terms, and here the man was, taking the liberty of not only damaging his clothing, but peeling it off of him as though Weyoun were a gift laid out just for him.

“You're _very bad_ , Damar,” Weyoun hissed from beneath him. He needed to pull himself together if he was still to get what he wanted out of this experiment. At least Damar had now let go of both of his wrists in favor of gripping Weyoun's hips and scowling down between his legs.

“Wassit?” Damar bobbed his head towards Weyoun's genitals. “You don' have ah prUt.”

The word translated into Dominionese awkwardly but Weyoun understood what Damar meant.

“S'inside like ours,” Damar said, taking a cautious sip of the air.

“You could say that,” Weyoun said.

He spread his legs a little wider to give Damar a very good view. Weyoun had a slit in a similar way that Damar did. The outer lips were lined with ridges similar to those along his ears and jaw and they were flushed a deep purple, in some spots so dark it was nearly black. They were wet and sturdy enough that Damar could rut and rub against the textured ridges if it so pleased him. He could also put his prUt inside and would find Weyoun to have all sorts of pleasurable textures inside.

“You could fuck me like this _if I wanted you to_ ,” Weyoun said, “and if you decide sometime to put away your xenophobic tendencies without the aid of a drink, perhaps I would let you if it suited me. But... not now. I'd rather fuck you, Damar. I'd rather have you on your back, and make you cry out my name, and have you _begging_ me to let you come!” Weyoun cackled.

Damar snarled at him.

Weyoun was working some muscles low in his belly and groin and in a moment what Damar would have called his 'ajan' was pushing outward and curving upward towards Weyoun's body to become a 'prUt'.

“How big would you like it, Damar?” Weyoun grinned, “I can control it a bit, you see—shift more blood to it, make it swell quite large, if that's what you like. I can usually sense what my partner will prefer and do my best to accommodate. With a man of ego such as Dukat, I would keep it quite small, as those men seem to be pleased at lording their size over another being. I'm sure that would please you, Damar, but...”

“Put it back!” Damar cried, and was backing himself away from it and nearly tumbled off the bed as the organ throbbed and grew. “It's terrible!”

Weyoun found it amusing that this was as clear as Damar's speech had been all night after the drug had taken affect.

Weyoun's member pulsed once more, and again, until it was it was at its fullest. Then it lifted from where it rested against his belly, and began to wiggle.

The look of disgust that twisted Damar's face was even more amusing. Yet Damar's prUt was not shirking back into its hiding place. In fact it gave a good hard _twitch._ It turned Weyoun on a great deal—something that was not meant to happen anyway—that despite being disgusted with both Weyoun, and himself, Damar was also _very aroused._

“You want it, Damar. You can't deny it. I can see it, and I can sense it. Does it turn you on because it's such a taboo in your culture to take lovers outside of your race? Does it turn you on because you find it so horrible? Does the disgust make you want it even more? You're _so filthy, Damar.”_

Weyoun propped himself up on his elbows and watched Damar's responses closely. His neck ridges were so swollen and so dark that they must be painful. Even the head of his prUt had gone from a light fleshy pink color, to dark blue, that grew gradually lighter and faded out towards the thick base.

“I--” Damar wouldn't meet Weyoun's gaze either, instead trained it on a spot on the wall above Weyoun's head. “No. Just go—get--”

Weyoun's cock continued to wiggle at Damar with all of its interesting ridges.

“Oh, Damar. Don't spoil our fun,” Weyoun pouted up at him.

Damar was snarling again and seemed about to say something else when his door gave a distinctive chirping noise. It wasn't the chime. Weyoun recognized it as an override. Someone was coming. Damar began to panic but Weyoun's wrapped his legs around Damar's waist. They were slender and almost elegant, but they were deceptively strong, and kept Damar from going anywhere that Weyoun didn't want him to go. Weyoun thought that he had crept over the line and was now bordering on madness though. There was no telling who was entering Damar's room—who would see them—but Weyoun found it also immensely thrilling and he was shocked at the extra surge of blood to his prUt that made him swell beyond what he he had thought was limit, and beyond what was comfortable. He keened and jerked his hips upward, pressing his aching prUt against Damar's belly. He tried his best not to make the sound again and it made a strangle noise in his throat as though he was choking.

“What is this?” Came a familiar, drawling voice. The voice alone made Weyoun's hips jerk up again.

Damar seemed frozen and he was staring down at Weyoun with desperation—probably to be let go—but he said nothing nor made any other move to try and break free.

“Damaaar,” the voice crooned as Dukat rounded the bed and came into Weyoun's line of sight, “I never would have suspected you as having any xenophillic tendencies given how ardent you are in your disgust at my choice of... lovers.”

“Dukat,” Damar barked, “what... what are you doing here?”

“Interrupting something, it would seem.”

“Hello, Gul Dukat,” Weyoun spoke up, “I'm sure our beloved drunk wouldn't mind if you stayed to partake in the fun. Mmm?”

Damar sighed, and hung his head.

“Let's just get this over with so I can wake up and find out it was all an erotic nightmare,” he said, and he shifted his hips and ground his prUt against Weyoun's with a groan of pleasure.

“Well, I can hardly turn down such an offer. In truth I had come to see if my handsome first officer would be interested in a late-night romp. My libido is in significant need as of late—but it seems that I have found my answer... and I'm quite interested to see how this goes. In fact... I think I'll just pull up a chair and watch.”

Weyoun and Damar both turned their heads to the side to watch as Dukat did just that. He sat his lanky frame down in a the chair he had pulled up, spread his legs, and rubbed at the bulge in his pants.

“Carry on,” Dukat said.

For awhile Damar and Weyoun simply rubbed up against each other trading noises of need, and arguing about who was going to do what. Damar bit at Weyoun's jaw ridges, Weyoun clawed at Damar's neck ridges. Damar seemed to have found that if he pushed his prUt against Weyoun's at a certain angle, with a certain amount of pressure, that it drew a high-pitched keening noise from Weyoun that Weyoun didn't seem to be able to hold back, nor to appreciate that it was forced from him. At last they paused from their battle of dominance, both bitten, scratched, and panting.

Dukat had his prUt out now and was stroking it lazily.

“As much as I love a good show of foreplay, I'd like things to move along a bit,” Dukat said from his ring-side seat.

“As well as I would,” Weyoun hissed. He was almost trembling beneath Damar, vibrating with a need so intense that it muddled the edges of his mind, and made not only his cock ache, but also made him ache deeply within his lower belly. He was quite certain he was _not_ supposed to feel something so intense. He had felt pleasure with Dukat, but nothing like this.

“I believe I could help,” Dukat said, “Damar simply doesn't want to take orders from you, but he's _much_ more compliant with me.”

Weyoun narrowed his eyes at Dukat. Again his attempt at dominance was being taken from him. But at this point he felt more willing to give in, and the balance of things had certainly shifted now that a third party had joined them. Dukat gave Weyoun a wining smile with his white teeth flashing.

“Go on, Dukat,” Weyoun said.

Damar nodded his head in silent agreement and rutted once against Weyoun's cock, making him shriek again.

“Damar, I'll make this quite simple. I want you to take every bit of that _impressive_ cho'ch and ride it. Don't--” Dukat stopped Damar as Damar's mouth fell open to protest, “Don't back-talk, Damar.”

“But Sir, it's—it's...” Damar backed off a bit giving Dukat a better view of Weyoun's wiggling cock, “it's _way too large_.”

Damar's prUt gave a needy throb against his belly and Damar wrapped his hand around it.

“Let me fuck the Vorta,” Damar growled.

Weyoun had grown content to just lay back and watch this.

“No, Damar. I've told you what I want, and I think Weyoun wants it too. You're outnumbered,” Dukat said. Weyoun caught him from the corner of his eye, rising from his chair.

“Outnumbered! Who said this was a vote?” Damar growled.

“Stop being difficult,” Dukat said, and he climbed onto the bed behind Damar. Weyoun heard the crack ring out as Dukat planted a firm slap to Damar's ass. “With a little work I'm certain you can take it, Damar. After all this is certainly no virginal hole,” Dukat said. Weyoun watched him crane his neck so that they could make eye contact around Damar's form.

“I can't see what you're doing back there, you know,” Weyoun said, “maybe it would be nice if you'd tell me. I'm quite curious about these things.”

“Hmm, I suppose I could indulge you, Weyoun,” Dukat said, “I'm teasing Damar's tight little hole right now. My fingers are all wet with my lubricant and I think I'm going to slide one of them inside. You know, Weyoun, Damar was once drunk and decided to tell me about how his wife fucked him with a particularly large--oh yes, there it goes in quite nicely. ”

“Ah!” Damar cried out and pushed himself back against Dukat, “fine, I can take more than one finger. Go on,” Damar growled.

“Well you'll _have_ to in order to fit _that_ ,” Dukat said, “why don't you touch it while I open you, hmm?”

“Ugh—fuck--Dukat--”

“You heard the man,” Weyoun said, “touch me.”

Damar let out a frustrated yell and thrashed his head once. The sound of Dukat bringing his free hand down on Damar's ass again came to Weyoun's ears like sweet stinging music.

“Settle _down_ , Damar,” Dukat ordered, more of an edge creeping around the sweet tone to his voice, “be a good boy and touch him. See if you can fit your hand around it, and think about that trying to fit into here,” Dukat said, “I'm petting his bottom now,” Dukat said as an aside to Weyoun, “encouraging him. Damar has quite the delicious backside here—though I'm sure a Vorta wouldn't know how to appreciate such things... at least not from an aesthetic viewpoint.”

Weyoun was enjoying watching them, and especially listening to Dukat's voice and his descriptions. Dukat's voice was something special and seemed to lull Damar into an almost hypnotic state, to convince him in a way that Weyoun had been unable to. Damar wrapped his hand around Weyoun's cock. It was so thick that he couldn't close it. A slow smile spread Weyoun's lips as Damar squeezed his hand, as though if he tried hard enough, he really could close his fingers around it.

“It's not going to fit,” Damar said again, but now in a more timid way, almost a whine.

“It wiiill,” Dukat assured Damar, “I'm adding a second finger now, sliding them, curling them—but it would help if Damar would lower himself down a bit more.”

Weyoun nodded up at Damar, enjoying the way Dukat was talking about him, rather than to him.

“Come here, Damar,” Weyoun crooned.

“It's humiliating enough without being any closer to you--” Damar complained.

“Be quiet, Damar. You like it,” Weyoun said.

“He does like it,” Dukat agreed, “you should watch when I have him lick my boots—he is absolutely beautiful.”

Weyoun drew in a shuddering breath.

“I would _love_ to watch,” he said, reaching up for Damar.

With a scowl on his face Damar lowered himself down further so that his head was resting against Weyoun's chest and his bottom was up in the air. Weyoun's legs were still loosely cirlced around him.

“Oh, much better,” Dukat said.

Weyoun could get a better view of Dukat now when he looked over the top of Damar's glossy black head. He followed the line of Damar's heavily armored back down to where his waist nipped in and the scales began to grow smaller, and softer, until they disappeared and left his bottom soft and bare. Dukat was grinning at Weyoun over the rise of it and continuing to work.

“The preparation would go more quickly if Damar wasn't so tense,” Dukat said.

“Oh,” Weyoun answered. The drug should have been easing him but whether it was wearing off now, or whether the introduction to Weyoun's strange phallus and their surprise visitor just outweighed the effects of the drug, it was true that Damar was quite tense. Weyoun could feel it now that Damar was so close to him. He threaded his fingers through Damar's hair and began to rub at his scalp.

“Don't do that,” Damar growled, “you're not my lover, I don't want your—oohhhh,” despite Damar's protests a deep moan of pleasure escaped him when Weyoun's fingers hit a particularly nice spot behind his ear. Weyoun had the sense that that sound wasn't only sexual pleasure from his attention, and from Dukat's, but an appreciation for the simple affection and gentle touch too. Damar would never admit to such a thing but Weyoun was certain of it. The more he stroked and rubbed at Damar's scalp and played in his hair the more the man melted against him.

Weyoun let his fingers trail down the back of Damar's neck still rubbing and massaging and drawing such wonderful, subtle, noises from the man. This was almost better than making his experiment about a power play, though in a way it still was. He had Damar at his mercy now moaning softly at his touch and nuzzling against his chest. Weyoun almost couldn't believe it. It hardly seemed like Damar at all. He wouldn't have imagined that the man could be tamed so thoroughly even for only a session.

It was almost too much and Weyoun felt awkward—he thought he needed to regain a bit of their usual dynamic.

“My goodness, Damar. I never would have imagined I'd have you nuzzling my chest like a tamed hound. All I had to do was pet you. Interesting... I suppose this is what is referred to as 'affection'. Doesn't your wife do this for you, or have you just been away from her too long?”

Dukat glared at Weyoun and Damar growled.

“I'm going to beat the shit out of you... later...” Damar sneered, “keep petting me before I bite you.”

Weyoun chuckled but continued. They had certainly been all over the place tonight and Weyoun would have quite a bit to think about later when it was all over. Perhaps Damar wasn't as simple a man as Weyoun had pegged him to be after all.

“Up, Damar,” Dukat said after a few more moments.

“Mmm,” Damar muttered.

“You've relaxed him too much,” Dukat chuckled. He leaned forward and patted Damar's broad back. “Damar! Straddle the Vorta and take him. We must all be growing impatient by now. Weyoun, hold your prUt up so Damar can sit on it. I'll help guide you, Damar.”

“I don't need help,” Damar said petulantly, almost sleepily, in his relaxed state. He was purring as he got into position. “Union save me,” he muttered.

Weyoun watched Dukat's hands grasp Damar's hips and help ease him down onto the thick head. Damar's face twisted up and he made a noise of protest as Weyoun felt himself breach Damar's entrance. His eyes grew a bit wide at the feeling—he could remember having felt similar things as other Weyoun's but this was uniquely his experience and the first time he had felt it for his own.

“Pet him, Weyoun. He's tensing up again,” Dukat said.

“There, Damar. Good... good boy,” Weyoun said, letting go of the base of his cock with one hand and stroking Damar's thigh gently.

“Breathe, Damar,” Dukat reminded him.

Weyoun stared up at Damar's beautiful form, struggling down upon him, for what felt like an incredibly, achingly, long time. At some point Damar had squeezed his eyes closed. He was half done and his powerful thighs were trembling with the effort.

“I can't--” Damar said, his voice coming out sounding more pathetic than Weyoun had ever heard it. To his delight he noticed tears beginning to slide over the lower rims of Damar's orbital ridges. He was huffing and puffing, still trying to take more.

“Good, good,” Dukat continued to coax him, “he's quite stretched, Weyoun. Do we want him to continue? I'm rubbing his back, the poor thing. Are you still petting too?”

“Yes,” Weyoun said, answering both questions—Damar felt so good around him that he couldn't put it into any words. It was like nothing he had felt and Damar was squeezing him so tightly, in truth Weyoun wasn't sure he could take much more of it either. Damar growled.

“I can take it,” he said defiantly. Weyoun found it funny how at some point Damar's disgust and apprehension had turned into him needing to prove some sort of point that he was capable of taking the thing even if it meant breaking himself.

Damar slipped a bit further onto him, over a particularly sensitive ridge, and Weyoun cried out with pleasure and shifted his hips up pushing himself in deeper and causing Damar to cry out and swipe at his face with his claws. Weyoun was shocked as the sting of the cuts bloomed on his cheek.

“Fuck—fuck--” Damar muttered under his breath.

“Just get it over with, Damar,” Dukat urged, “you're nearly there. Push down hard and be done with it.”

Damar seemed to be gathering his resolve and then his eyes locked onto Weyoun's with defiance and he brought himself down with one solid motion. Weyoun's eyes rolled with pleasure at being completely sheathed inside Damar, and Damar was above him, _crying_ pathetic little sobs while Dukat reached around him to rub his prUt.

“There, there, Damaaar,” Dukat crooned, stroking Damar's prUt. The crying began to fade and Weyoun watched the pleasure take place of the pain on Damar's features. Weyoun had gained a new appreciation for Dukat—the man may have been a preening egomaniac—but he certainly knew how to do sex. Weyoun never would have thought out the mechanics of it quite like this.

“I... I think I need to... move...” Weyoun said. Damar was almost impossibly tight around him and as much as he was enjoying all of this he was ready for it to be over with—to reach some sort of destination and unravel at the peak of the pleasure. His fingers curled into the sheets.

“Damar, rock,” Dukat said.

It was slow and difficult to get Damar to move at first. Weyoun suspected it was still quite painful but Dukat kept stroking his prUt and encouraging him. Soon Damar was riding him steadily, and after a few moments of that, more insistently.

“I can't believe you have _all_ of that _inside of you,_ Damar,” Dukat said, “I really didn't think you could take it. Tell us how good it feels, Damar. It must be so deep inside of you.”

Weyoun felt almost entranced as he watched Damar move above him and listened to the voices. He was making high pitched little whimpers and clawing at the sheets, trembling all over, almost begging them to stop—he was certain it was too much.

“It's good--” Damar growled, “so good—oh--fuck me, Weyoun. Fuck me—I can't—it's so big—fucking Union I need to come.”

And then Damar was riding him harder, shouting Weyoun's name, and it _was_ too much. Damar shouting for _him_ enjoying _his_ cock and _begging to come on it._ Weyoun shrieked, and cried, and arched himself up off the mattress as his pleasure exploded into something he was certain was a religious experience. He couldn't stop his body from jerking, and trembling, nor could he reign in the noises escaping him, or the thrashing of his head. He felt Damar clench around him too and then he was sprayed with Damar's come—sprayed into his hair, and face, over his chest and belly in several mighty spurts. Damar was roaring and writhing above him. Weyoun was still crying his little noises.

He was too far gone on his waves of pleasure to comprehend Damar getting off of him, but he was aware when Dukat came closer, he could feel the mans presence. He cracked an eye open to watch Dukat stroke himself off but quickly closed it as Dukat came on him too, all over his face. _I'm drenched in Cardassian sperm..._ Weyoun thought. It was slimy, and thick, and the scent of it was strong. Weyoun wasn't certain he wanted to be cleaned up though—he just wanted to lay there coming down from his pleasure and under the blanket of his prizes.

He drifted off for a few moments but came around at the sound of Dukat's voice.

“You are a mess!” Dukat said, “I hear other species aren't quite as messy as us Cardassians are. Humans, I hear, hardly come at all. Just a little squirt. How do they manage to reproduce at all?”

Dukat was running a damp cloth over Weyoun's face, then his neck, and chest.

“You'll have to wash it out of your hair later. I'm afraid a clothe won't do for that,” Dukat said, as he cleaned.

Weyoun rolled his head to the side to see Damar laying next to him. His broad back was towards him and his poor bottom was quite bruised and covered in handprints.

“I have a feeling you shouldn't let us fall asleep together. When Damar wakes up he'll want to murder me... though I suppose it wouldn't be a bad thing to have died for...” Weyoun mused.

“Maybe I'll just stay and make sure you both live through the night,” Dukat said. He tossed the soiled rag aside stripped down, then climbed onto the bed between Damar and Weyoun and settled down. “It's warmer this way anyway. Oh... and I hope Damar won't mind that I finished off that bottle of kanar that was sitting out. It's made me feel a little... funny, though.”

Weyoun smirked to himself.

“How odd,” he said.

 

 


	7. Double Header - Sisko/Dukat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was for an anon request on tumblr. Disko + fisting with Sisko's baseball. 
> 
> Disko (Dukat/Sisko) Fist-fucking, fucked with an object, double penetration, fucked by a hologram, awful baseball innuendo as a title.  
> Cameo by Damar at the end 'cause someone needs to tell Dukat how nasty he is and Dukat certainly isn’t going to shame himself for his desires.

Dukat lifted the cloth napkin from his lap and carefully dabbed at first one corner of his mouth and then the other. He smoothed the napkin back out over the tops of his slender thighs and allowed his gaze to rove appreciatively over his empty plate and the on to the various dishes set perfectly on the table. His gaze then landed on a pair of strong, dark, hands—one was resting on the tabletop and another was loosely holding a glass. A slow smile curved Dukat’s mouth as his gaze rose higher over the broad chest sporting a very distinct type of communicator and banded in a wide swatch of Starfleet command crimson.

 

He gave a small nod of appreciation for the handsome face as well—dark eyes that managed to be both commanding and warm all at the same time, a broad nose, shapely lips, a mouth accentuated by an interesting pattern of hair. Dukat’s fingers twitched beneath the table against his thighs where the napkin was spread. He wanted to trace that circle of hair with his fingertip. His smile grew wider and he reigned his focus back in. He wouldn’t want to be impolite and offend his gracious host after all.

 

“Benjamin,” Dukat said, “the meal you prepared was simply fantastic,” Dukat lifted his hands and spread them to indicate the table laden with food. Luckily there were no other tables nearby as if they had met up in the Replimat or Quark’s. No—this was something special indeed. Benjamin had invited him to his own quarters, into his personal space, for a meal no less. In Cardassian culture sharing or preparing food for someone else was quite a significant gesture. “I never imagined Terran food could be so flavorful!”

 

“Those would be the Creole spices and my home-grown peppers!” Benjamin said proudly, flashing Dukat a grin of white teeth.

 

Dukat slid the tip of his tongue along his thin lips. He could still taste the spices and the heat lingering and when he drew air over his so'c it was especially pleasant. He narrowed his eyes to take another breath and enjoy the taste, scent, and sensation as the Creole spices mingled with the subtle flavor of his dinner partner sitting so nearby him.

 

“You must teach me one of these recipes sometime,” Dukat suggested, and he chuckled a bit. The idea of Benjamin agreeing to such a thing was likely out of the question but imagining the both of them in aprons and undertaking such a domestic task after a long day of quarreling over their opposing viewpoints on this or that sounded simply—perfect to Dukat.

 

He imagined Benjamin’s powerful hands sliding down to grip his narrow hips as he stirred something in a pan, Benjamin’s breath sliding along the scales of his neck as he leaned in to tell him he was doing a good job, Benjamin’s lips wrapping around the head of a wooden spoon as Dukat lifted it from the saucepan to offer the subject of his admiration a taste. Oh, how he would impress Benjamin with his completed dish delivered perfectly. Surely the Captain would praise him for being a quick study and doing it all while looking positively charming in the apron.

 

“Mm,” Benjamin hummed, “I don’t share my family recipes with just anyone.”

 

“But I’m not just anyone, Benjamin,” Dukat said, his voice taking on an edge of honey as he grew bold and placed a hand on Sisko’s thick thigh beneath the table.

 

“No,” Benjamin said, and his dark eyes seemed to pin Dukat in his seat, and the word hung between them for several moments. Dukat could feel his pulse thundering in his neck ridges, his heart squeezing impossibly tight, his stomach full of food doing uncomfortable flip-flops as he hung there waiting for Benjamin to go on. “You’re not.”

 

Now Dukat was smiling with most of his teeth; a big smile that brought out all the little creases in his cheeks.

 

“But I don’t expect you’ve come to have dinner with me in order to persuade me into giving up my recipes,” Benjamin said.

 

His hand closed over Dukat’s fingers, lifted them slightly from his thigh, and gripped them hard. It was almost painful and the smile faltered on Dukat’s face.

 

“I… don’t expect I have,” Dukat said, “I merely thought that we—two old friends, Benjamin—could enjoy–”

 

“You want me to fuck you,” Benjamin said.

 

He let go of Dukat’s hand, gripped the edge of the table, and pushed himself up from his chair. Dukat glanced up to Benjamin and the scales down his spine seemed to shiver. There was something very arousing about that man towering over him as Dukat sat there beneath him. His mouth seemed suddenly dry and his ajan seemed suddenly wet.

 

“I… well I may have… considered it…”

 

“Oh, you’ve considered it, Dukat,” Benjamin began. He raised his voice a level as he bit down hard on Dukat’s name, almost spitting it. Dukat knew the patterns of Benjamin’s speech well and he could imagine that as the man went on with whatever he was going to say that his voice would rise another level, and another, his sentences chopped short for emphasis, enunciating each word deliberately, his breath coming in odd pauses here and there. Dukat found Benjamin intriguing to listen to; especially when he was roused. “You’ve fantasized. You’ve dreamed. You’ve gotten yourself off to the idea! I would say… that you have considered it.”

 

Dukat drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. While he was speaking Benjamin had moved behind his chair and now he was looming behind Dukat his hands gripping the back of the chair just above either side of Dukat’s shoulder ridges. Dukat had worn a casual Cardassian clothing style to dinner that night. It was done in slate gray with navy accents to bring out the tones of his skin and his icy blue eyes. The cut of the neckline was a bit on the dangerous side—certainly not conservative but not low enough to be considered scandalous either. After all Dukat would not wish to come off as desperate or whorish. He did have his standards.

 

But even with the thick fabric covering most of his shoulder ridges he could still sense Benjamin’s fingers lingering so close to those sensitive scales. His neck ridges were beginning to flush and they were flaring noticeably.

 

“And I suppose you’ve never considered fucking me,” Dukat said, finding his voice again, loud and clear.

 

Benjamin gave a bark of laughter.

 

“No, I haven’t.”

 

“Benjamin, you wound me,” Dukat said, genuinely spurned by the admission and how flippantly it was stated. Didn’t the captain even have any sympathy for his feelings or his pride?

 

“Now that I have considered,” Benjamin said.

 

Had such a remark been uttered by another Cardassian in conversation it would have been a very strong and obvious sexual innuendo. Cardassians showed their interest by arguing, goading one another, pushing just the right buttons, sassing and verbally sparring. The fact that Dukat was able to get so under the skin of his friend that said friend was driven to consider bodily injury to him would have been a good sign—a sign that one was getting the best of their Cardassian partner and that soon they’d be fucking each other senseless.

 

But this was a human so his barbs stung in a completely different way. Yet Dukat was so conditioned by his culture to read these things a certain way that despite knowing how it was meant in the humans terms… he couldn’t help but be turned on by it anyway.

 

“Sometimes… Benjamin…” Dukat rose from his chair now and he felt the back of his tunic brush Benjamin’s fingers, still curled around the back of his chair, all the way down as he stood. He turned to face his opponent now. There was scarcely any space between them. Their chests were nearly pressed together, their noses nearly touching. Dukat’s long and slender neck was dark and swollen around the edges. “Fucking and inflicting pain go hand in hand. Sometimes, in fact…” Dukat crooned, “they are one in the same.”

 

Dukat held Benjamin’s gaze as though this were some sort of challenge and the dark eyes of the captain stared right back at him glinting with what Dukat hoped were bad ideas.

 

“I suppose you have a valid point,” Benjamin said, “but I’m not a Cardassian. I don’t delight in subjugating others—not even in the bedroom.”

 

“I didn’t subjugate anyone!” Dukat defended, placing his palm against his chest, his eyes growing wider. “I was merely a pawn of Central Command doing my duty to serve my beloved State. I was very sympathetic to the plight of the Bajo-”

 

“Enough,” Benjamin said, “I don’t want to hear any of your excuses.”

 

“Then perhaps you could think of a way to keep me quiet,” Dukat suggested, “and maybe it wouldn’t please you to… ah… subjugate your dearest friend–”

 

“You and I are not friends, Dukat–”

 

“But I could please you. Oh, Benjamin, I could please you… if only you will allow it…”

 

Dukat tipped his head slightly and rounded his shoulders a bit in deference to the man before him. He hesitated then after a moment he did something he would very rarely do for anyone at all.

 

Dukat lowered himself carefully to the floor, down onto his bony knees, at the feet of Benjamin Sisko. Dukat knelt with his head bowed for what seemed like an eternity. His heart seemed to leap into his throat when he finally felt Benjamin’s thick fingers curl roughly into his hair.

 

“I’ll allow it,” Benjamin said, “and yes… I certainly could think of a way to keep you quiet.”

Benjamin tipped Dukat’s heat back so his gaze was level with the front of his pants. With his free hand he unzipped his fly and wrangled his cock out. There it was right in front of Dukat’s face. The cut of Dukat’s collar may not have been slutty but the sound that escaped the depths of his throat upon being presented with that cock could only be characterized as such. It was large, and smooth, with a delicious looking bulbous head, and heavy looking sack at the base covered in fur.

 

Dukat abandoned his facade of non-desperation and took the organ into his mouth immediately. The taste of the human’s skin exploded against his so'c immediately. It was like nothing he had tasted before. He pushed himself down onto Benjamin’s cock, concentrating on letting his throat relax, desiring to take it all the way down and fill himself up with the taste, smell, texture, and weight of it against his tongue. Above him he heard Benjamin chuckle and say something about how eager he was.

 

Dukat struggled with the natural reflex of his throat to close up and gag around the thick cock but he managed to get it all down. His eyes watered as he looked up at Benjamin hoping for his approval while that bulbous head pressed almost painfully against the back of his throat and his lungs grew achingly desperate for air. He pulled off with a gasp, a sputter, and a lot of saliva slicking Benjamin’s hard cock and roping from it to Dukat’s mouth. Dukat took a quick gulp of air then went back for more.

 

He loved the feel of Benjamin’s hand in his hair at the back of his head, holding him down there, the stretch of his throat, the heavy feel of Benjamin’s odd sack in his hand and the coarseness of the fur there.

 

“Stop gagging, Dukat,” Benjamin said, landing a thumb-and-forefinger flick to the center of Dukat’s chufa. “You did say that you wanted to please me. I won’t be pleased if you gag up that delicious dinner I made. Be a good boy… there…”

 

Under most circumstances Dukat would have taken offense to being called ‘boy’. But when Benjamin praised him it did something to him that he rarely felt. It was more than just a turn on—but it did excite his swollen ajan into opening enough to let the head of his own cho'Ch push through and slightly tent the front of his pants.

 

Dukat bobbed his head on Benjamin’s cock sucking and hollowing his cheeks and doing the best that he could to gain Benjamin’s approval. At last Sisko pushed his forehead until Dukat’s lips came off of him in a wet pop.

 

“Hmm,” Benjamin rumbled, “I think we’ve found a good use for that mouth of yours besides talking nonsense.”

 

“I think we have,” Dukat replied, his own voice raspy from the eager use of his throat.

 

“Let’s see what other parts of you have intriguing uses. Get up, Dukat.”

 

Dukat scrambled to his feet. He was used to being the one giving commands and normally he was too arrogant to be commanded by anyone else. But Benjamin had him on a leash just now, so to speak.

 

“Undress,” Benjamin said, “let’s see if you have anything under that clothing that justifies the way you strut yourself around my space station.”

 

Dukat shed his clothing quickly and folded them up and placed them on the table behind himself. He stood still at parade rest while Benjamin inspected him. The feel of Benjamin’s eyes roving over his body caused his cho'Ch to evert even more. Benjamin took it into his hand and stroked it a few times until he seemed satisfied that there was no more of it left to coax out. He let go of the length and let it bounce back against Dukat’s trim belly. Benjamin glanced down at the lubricant coating his hand, gave a disgusted expression at it, and wiped his palm against Dukat’s heaving chest.

 

“I’ve made up my mind about what I’m going to do with you,” Benjamin said.

 

“Oh, have you?” Dukat was intrigued now, and fully aroused, but Benjamin didn’t seem inclined to continue.

 

Instead he turned away from Dukat and moved towards the replicator. He asked it for a bottle of oil-based lubricant, unscented, and warmed to a certain temperature. When he turned to face Dukat again he was holding not only the bottle in one hand, but also his baseball in the other. Where he had gotten the baseball from Dukat could not be sure. But it was his baseball—it was no replication. The way Benjamin gripped the ball like the hand of a treasured companion, the wear on it from his finger oils touching it, the discoloration on the stitching—yes.

 

Benjamin placed the baseball down onto the table. It was suddenly clear of their dinner plates and the platters of food. He spun Dukat to face the table and then bent him over it. Dukat could feel Benjamin’s hand gliding over the cheeks of his flat bottom and the smooth skin there. One hand was spreading the crevasse of his ass with those fingers brushing over his opening. Then there was a dollop of warm lubricant there and Dukat sighed with pleasure.

 

Dukat had already prepared himself for this evening by wearing a small anal plug for a few days to ready himself so that along with the warm lube made it easy for Benjamin to slip his first finger completely inside of him. Dukat groaned with pleasure and pushed back against it. Benjamin worked the finger a bit but Dukat didn’t need much stretching in order to fit a second finger in. That felt even better and Dukat tossed his head back, his mouth open with pleasure, as Benjamin curled and scissored his fingers to stretch him. A pause for more lube and Benjamin’s fingers worked it into his hole. He kept going until he had managed to push all four of his thick fingers into Dukat’s ass.

 

“Ohhh, oh Benjamin, yesssss,” Dukat hissed. His neck ridges and cho'Ch were throbbing but he decided that he was not going to fondle his own neck ridges unless Benjamin told him to and his poor prUt was trapped between the table and his own belly so there was no room for him to pay attention to it.

 

“What a disgusting whore you are,” Benjamin said, spitting each word, “opening your ass for me like this. Who would have imagined that I would have the Great Gul Dukat bent over my supper table and keening.”

 

“I’m not—ahh—keening,” Dukat insisted through gritted teeth.

 

“But you don't deny being a whore?” Benjamin chuckled.

 

Dukat gave his head a defiant little shake. His inky hair was a disheveled mess around his angular face and his eyes rolled as Benjamin pushed his fingers deep and up against a certain spot.

 

“Fuck—Benjamin–right there!”

But the captain withdrew his fingers then leaving Dukat empty and aggitated.

 

“No, no, no,” Dukat complained.

 

“Be patient,” Benjamin crooned.

 

“I am not a patient man, Benjamin,” Dukat warned.

 

“You’ll just have to be.”

 

Dukat closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool surface of the table waiting for whatever it was Benjamin planned to do to him next. His legs felt weak already, his knees unreliable, so he was grateful that he had the table to lean against. But Benjamin seemed to be taking his sweet time behind him. Dukat clenched his jaw in an effort to remain quiet.

 

Then he felt the smooth, lubed, surface of a round object pressed up against his stretched hole. It took him a moment for him to realize what was happening.

 

“Wha–” the object was pushed a bit further coaxing his hole to stretch further to accommodate it. “Oh!”

 

It was Benjamin’s baseball. A thrill of arousal bloomed hotly deep in Dukat’s belly and he groaned deeply.

 

“Yes—yesss, ooh!” He couldn’t recall the last time he’d wanted something as desperately as he wanted this. His cho'ch was aching beneath him he was struggling to relax his body enough to help with this rather than to hinder it by clenching. “Ohh, oh—ah Benjamin, yess yes. Put it inside me!”

 

The girth of the baseball filled him up to a point that was almost uncomfortable.

 

“Push it back out,” Benjamin said, “yes… go on… like that…”

 

It stretched him open again on the way out and he could hear it plop wetly into Benjamin’s palm. The absence of the baseball inside of him was both a relief and a loss.

 

“Again,” Dukat said, his voice coming out in a near tremble to match his quivering legs.

 

They repeated this process a few times, Benjamin pausing to coat the ball with more lube, until the push in and push out of the baseball began to come more easily. And just as the pain and discomfort of it subsided into pure pleasure Benjamin took it even further and this time Dukat was surprised to feel not only the baseball pushed into his hole, but Benjamin’s hand wrapped around it in a fist, and all of it stretching him to his very limit. He cried out as Benjamin’s fist around the baseball insisted.

 

“B-Benjamin—ah–I don’t think it’s going to… f-fiiit,” Dukat whined.

 

His cho'Ch was leaking pre-cum beneath him. He felt ready to burst in every way—his hole from trying to fit too much inside of it, his cho'Ch with a spray of cum, his belly with the most intense orgasm. He struggled to push his orgasm back with all of his might. He didn’t want it to hit him just yet. He gritted his teeth and gathered his strength and his will and pushed back against Benjamin’s fist crying out, thrashing his head, tears streaming from his eyes.

 

Then it was all deep inside of him and the pleasure that was throbbing there was so intense that he couldn’t quit the tears that had began over the pain of it. He should have been embarrassed by the sob that escaped him, how undone he was, trembling on a table with another man inside him to the wrist. Bejamin fucked him like that a few times but Dukat begged him to stop. It was just too much—the pleasure and pain of it was too overwhelming.

 

Benjamin relented and this last time he pushed only the baseball back into Dukat’s damaged hole.

 

“Don’t push,” Benjamin said, “we’ll just leave it for now.”

 

Compared to the fist around the baseball this was now a much more pleasant full feeling and Dukat was too far gone to complain anymore. He felt Benjamin’s cock push into his purse from behind and Benjamin began to fuck him. Now he was full in both of his holes and each powerful thrust from the captain jammed the thick head of Benjamin’s cock right into the base of Dukat’s cho'Ch deep inside of him. Dukat’s claws scrabbled against the tabletop begging for something to hold onto but there was nothing. He could merely slump against the table as Benjamin fucked him. He was too drowned in his own pleasure and floating away in some feeling that he never wanted to come down from.

 

Through a thick fog he seemed to be aware of the painful pummeling of his ajan finally ending, of a cry exploding from Benjamin, of cum exploding between himself and the table, dripping from his ajan, down his thighs. His orgasm coursed through him and combined with that other out-of-body sensation he had reached left him completely senseless. Benjamin Sisko had fucked him so hard that his very soul—and he did have one despite what some may think—had vacated his body completely.

 

Dukat gave a weak, spent, groan and was vaguely aware of the baseball dropping out of his ass and hitting the floor.

 

Dukat managed to pull his lower body up onto the table too but it felt so heavy and useless. He just lay there wishing someone would come find him and stroke his hair a bit and speak to him gently as he tried to come back to himself. In fact that should have been happening now and yet there were no fingers in his hair, no kind words, no praises about how well he’d done…

 

“Hello, Dukat. I’m glad you could make it tonight,” Benjamin said, “I hope you’re in the mood for something… spicy.”

 

The repetition jolted him back to himself a bit finally and Dukat groaned. The damn thing was glitching. It had gone back to the beginning.

 

“Computer,” Dukat said, still laying uselessly on the table, “end program.”

 

-x-

 

Dukat limped sorrowfully back to his quarters. He commed Damar and soon his first officer was there with him and drawing a hot bath for him.

 

“Damar, would you please assist me?” Dukat asked.

 

He had already stripped down and he handed Damar a dermal regenerator. Dukat leanaed against the wall and bent over slightly.

 

“Just how I’ve always dreamed of serving Cardassia,” Damar said, “by repairing the damaged asshole of my superior officer.”

 

“Damar,” Dukat warned in a sharp tone.

 

Damar sighed.

 

“You could have at least offered me a drink first.”

 

Dukat had no time to endure Damar’s sarcasm and sass.

 

“Sooner rather than later, Damar. I don’t want my bath to get cold or I’ll make you drain the tub and run it again. I’m sure you’d rather have this done and over with quickly. Don’t miss any bruises either.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Damar muttered. “You know, I just think this is beneath you. It’s disgusting. You smell like human.”

 

Dukat could just imagine Damar’s snarling lip curl of disgust from behind him. Dukat did not bother to turn his head to glance over his shoulder and see.

 

“I did not ask for your commentary. Repair my ass in silence,” Dukat demanded moodily, “It was a top-notch holoprogram. Very well done. I asked for scents to be included. I wanted it to be as realistic as po—ow—possible,” Dukat said.

 

He did turn his head now to glare at Damar. He was certain the man was being too rough with that dermal regenerator on purpose.

 

“Eassssy,” Dukat hissed.

 

Dukat sighed with relief as slowly the medical device fixed him right up and the pain of the encounter was eased from his body.

 

“Much better,” Dukat said when Damar was finished. He turned to face his friend with a small, rueful smile. “Thank you, Damar.”

 

Damar snorted.

 

“Don’t mention it,” he said, placing the regenerator onto a shelf in the bathroom as Dukat moved towards the bathtub and lowered himself down into it.

 

He watched Damar stalk away moodily but then Damar paused in the bathroom doorway and turned back.

 

“Sir?”

 

“Yes, Damar?” Dukat asked, as he cupped his hands in his bath water and lifted a cloud of bubbles.

 

“Perhaps I’ve earned that promotion to Gul now…”

 

Dukat smirked. 

 

Damar was giving him such a hopeful expression.

 

“No… not yet, Damar. But Cardassia certainly appreciates your service. If you like you can have a bottle of kanar from my cabinet. Take the finest vintage and enjoy yourself.”

 

“Thank you, Sir. After tonight I’ll need it if I’m to get any rest.”

 

Damar turned on his heel and left. Dukat sank down further into his warm bath, closed his eyes, and imagined that he could taste the scent of Creole spices wafting in from the other room as Benjamin prepared one of his famous dishes.


	8. Mess - Damar/Weyoun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunk sexy fantasies, messy eating kink, wall humping.

Request/Belated Birthday fic for @CYRELIA-J

-

Just when Damar was certain his self-loathing and feelings of helplessness against the increasing oppression of his Dominion “allies” couldn’t get any worse the pressure of both of those things ratcheted up yet another notch. His intake of kanar was growing absurd but he had become rather skilled at ignoring the growing hoard of empty bottles.

 

Today had been an especially trying day with Weyoun and while the Vorta was complaining about how it was growing increasingly difficult to get a full days work out of him. With a scowl and a defiant, angry, jut of his lower jaw Damar and Weyoun had burned holes into each other with their gazes and then Damar had walked out without another word.

 

If Weyoun wanted him to work more today then the pissy little Vorta could come and get him—that was if Damar saw fit to answer his door at all.

 

He supposed if he didn’t work harder to reign in his temper he might find himself in a worse place than at the end of a narrow-eyed glare from Weyoun. It was possible if he didn’t at least pretend to shape up a bit that he’d find himself attending his own execution.

 

Damar took a pull directly from his bottle and grimaced. Kanar didn’t taste completely unpleasant but the thick consistency of the stronger stuff never ceased to disgust him. And yet here he was drinking it straight from the bottle. At least he could remain a civilized Cardassian and drink it from a proper vessel. He retrieved a glass and poured himself a bit more. But when he brought the glass to his lips he felt suddenly queasy. The sick roiling of his stomach blanched his face a few shades paler than normal. It reminded him that he had neglected to eat all day and that his stomach was weary of the drink he was filling it with.

 

He didn’t really feel hungry though, especially when he was agitated and in a poor mood—unless being hungry for a wet ajan to distract himself with could count for something. But he supposed he should eat if only to keep his strength up and his mind alert enough to meet Weyoun’s sharp sass and attitude with the cutting dagger of his own.

 

Sometimes pettiness could be a decent motivator.

 

Damar crossed the room to his replicator and pushed his lip out into a petulant, boyish, pout as he tried to choose an item. None of it sounded appealing so he replicated several dishes deciding that maybe if he had something in front of him, could smell and taste the scent of it, that maybe that would help to stir his appetite to one of them.

 

But as he sat there sniffing at the food and waiting for something to appeal to him he just continued to drink his kanar and stew over Weyoun.

 

What was worse than the constant bickering and power struggles was the fact that sometimes his body interpreted these interactions as flirtatious even though his mind knew better—even though he absolutely loathed Weyoun. It was just a matter of conditioning to Cardassian customs and rituals and sometimes when Weyoun placed a certain inflection on certain words, or looked at him a certain way, or moved into his space… it did things to him that Damar did not give authorization to. Sometimes after one of their more intense bouts Damar would be appalled to realize after one of them had had the last word that his slit was wet and throbbing.

Damar frowned deeply and muttered under his breath about how much he hated the Vorta, how traitorous his own body could be, how he’d sooner kill the Vorta scum any day than entertain an actual thought of fucking him. Damar scoffed at the mere possibility that he could even fantasize about a thing. Though he was not innately a violent man he supposed he could imagine their ire and frustration with each other reaching a heated boiling point that might lead to—no. No, he couldn’t.

 

Further disgusted by his train of thought he chose one of his food dishes at random and began to eat. It tasted like ash in his mouth and he continued to sneer and snarl. Half of his bottle was empty and he hadn’t kept track of how much he’d been drinking during the day before that. But he certainly felt beyond the normal disconnection that the kanar helped him to feel when he remained just a little buzzed at all times. He wasn’t buzzed now. Now he was drunk. It was a bit early in the day for him to let himself go that far but right now he was beyond caring about it. Finishing off the bottle and putting himself to bed seemed like the best way to blot out the rest of the day and all the things plaguing his mind.

 

His sleep was sporadic these days at best anyway. Along with losing his appetite when disturbed over something he tended to invite insomnia as well. The kanar helped him get out of bed in the morning, it helped him through the day, and if he gave in to enough of it then it helped him sleep too.

 

He dipped his eating utensil into the different dishes and ate sloppily. Why should he care if the food mixed together? It was already unappealing anyway. When a clumsy hand dropped the utensil he didn’t bother to pick it up but instead pinched a zabu dumpling between his fingers and shoved the whole thing into his mouth in irritation leaving the thick sauce behind on his fingertips and smeared over his lips.

 

He still wasn’t hungry but now his anger was compelling him to grab, and tear, and shove things into his mouth, and rip them apart with his teeth. He had nothing to take his frustrations out on. He really couldn’t kill Weyoun, could he? Distracted and drunk he bit down hard onto a chunk of meat that he had fished out of his stew but he caught his fingers and cried out.

 

Staring down at his hand he noticed it was covered in mess and looking down at his chest plate it seemed that he’d been dropping things too. He seemed momentarily confused as to what to do with his dirty hands. The kanar was weighing heavily on him, dulling his thinking, and his reflexes. His eyeslids opened and closed slowly like a lazy basking lizard. He licked his lips.

 

“M'clean m'hanss,” Damar muttered.

 

He meant to get up from his chair and do so but when he attempted to get up he only made it halfway out of his chair before the room began to spin so he sat back down hard with a grunt and then with a growl he just swiped all the bowls and plates off of the table and onto the floor. Then he flung himself forward onto the table, his head on his arms, and–

 

Weyoun was shaking him awake. Damar sat up with a start and squinted at the Vorta.

 

“How’d you—ahh…” his head was aching and grimaced a little, “get in?”

 

“I have my ways,” the Vorta said, staring down his nose at Damar. He clicked his tongue. “My goodness, Damar, but aren’t you a disgusting mess.”

 

Weyoun curled his thin upper lip at Damar and Damar sneered back at him from under that haughty gaze.

 

“I was hungry,” Damar lied.

 

“Well. It looks like you’re wearing more of your food than you’ve consumed,” Weyoun said, “the Vorta have a very limited diet but I assume that this…” Weyoun spread his arms and gestured to the bowls and plates on the floor, “is not the proper way to enjoy a meal.”

 

“Who can enjoy anything with you constantly lurking,” Damar groused.

 

“I simply came to retrieve you from your petulant mood so that you might tend to your duties,” Weyoun said. “But… I think you’ll need to be cleaned up first.”

 

And then to Damar’s shock and revulsion Weyoun leaned in and licked a bit of gravy from Damar’s chin ridge.

 

“Hm… I can’t taste it, but it’s rather…” Weyoun smacked his lips, “creamy.”

 

Something about the way Weyoun’s voice wrapped like silk around that last word sent an intense and uninvited pulse between Damar’s legs.

 

“Ugh,” Damar groaned. “Get out.”

 

“Not so hasty, Damar,” Weyoun crooned.

 

He sat himself down on the edge of the table, minding not to sit in any mess, and regarded Damar with a coy little smirk.

 

“You’re really in no condition to take care of yourself just now. You’re very drunk. If I were to send you to the sonic shower to clean yourself I’m not sure you could make it that far,” Weyoun said.

 

“I’m fine!” Damar growled, and he made to rise from his chair, but Weyoun grabbed one of his hands and wrapped his warm, sneering, little mouth around one of Damar’s fingers. The way in which the Vorta’s tongue swirled around the digit and the way his cheeks hollowed out to suck on it were obscene and Damar looked away from him and his breath caught in his throat. “Let go of me!”

 

Damar yanked his hand away and cradled it against his chestplate as if it had been wounded.

 

“Come now, Damar, I’m only trying to help you. Don’t be so obstinate.”

 

Now Weyoun shifted his weight from the table and into Damar’s lap, stretching his lithe little legs to straddle Damar’s thick thighs and the characteristic wide spread of his legs when Damar was seated.

 

Weyoun’s lips curled around Damar’s full lower lip and whether it was the kanar or just the weight of all things that seemed to trap him, Damar found that he could not move, could not lift his arms to push the Vorta away from him, could not stand up to dump the Vorta out of his lap.

 

Weyoun’s lips moved back to his chin where he proclaimed that he had missed a smudge of sauce, then onto his throat, and then to a swollen scale on Damar’s neck that nearly made him cry out when the Vorta’s teeth scraped over it.

 

“Oh,” Weyoun shifted his weight in Damar’s lap, his eyes rounder, surprised. “What’s this?” He shifted his little bottom against the bulge that had made itself present in Damar’s pants.

 

“Ah—ah,” Damar tried his best to bite back the sound.

 

“How fascinating,” Weyoun said, dragging out both words, a rather devious twinkle sparking in his large violet eyes. “I’ve never seen a Cardassian sexual organ before. I would be quite curious… to see one now…”

 

“You can do more than see it,” Damar heard himself rumble. His voice was gravelly with arousal. “If you want to lick, and suck, then you can at least wrap your mouth around my cho'ch—at least you’d be silent then. Go on, Vorta whore. Suck my cho'ch.”

 

Weyoun dropped himself down between Damar’s legs, beneath the table, into the mess on the floor. Weyoun reached into Damar’s pants and closed his small hand around the large organ inside.

 

“Ohh,” the Vorta gasped, “it’s so much larger than I had imagined…”

 

He moved his hand along the organ once—from base, to tip, then back down again to twist and rest firmly against Damar’s engorged slit.

 

Damar snorted and woke himself from the noise. He was momentarily confused that he’d been dreaming—that Weyoun was not there, and that in fact his own hand was down his pants, gripping his everted cock.

 

He pulled his hand out of his pants and frowned. His hand was covered with a mixture of dried food and his own slick.

 

Damar sighed.

 

Having a fantasy about Weyoun sucking his cho'ch and fondling himself with filthy hands was an all new low for him. He headed to the sonic shower to make himself clean again but his mind insisted on staying stuck on dirty thoughts until he was rutting against the shower wall and spraying the tiles making a whole new mess of another sort.


End file.
